forever young
by tado-mi
Summary: following is the story of an OC named Lien Lestrange - a muggle-savvy 13 year old witch from the Lestrange family, carefully blended into the canon. It will carry from 1973 through 98, addressing questions such as and what would have came out of Severus Snape if someone trusted him throughout his life, and how would have events unfolded if Sirius Black survived the battle in 1995?
1. The Cave

_July, 1973_

In the pale blue sky, covered with beautiful, giant clouds, there was a wizard on a broomstick. Good old Cleansweep Five, with rough oak handle and a broom still burning with its original fire red. A pretty archaic device, purchased on his sixteenth birthday as it came out, was of great service for all the following twenty-three years. Well. Perhaps it was not as fast or secure as the new models, but the wizard felt certain attachment to it, treating it with enormous care and knowledgeability, as one would take care of a treasure, fragile and priceless. The mere thought of replacing good old Cleansweep Five felt wrong, as abandoning a venerable and trusted friend that has gotten him out of countless troubles.

The heavy rain that has not stopped since it started in the early afternoon, seemed to carefully frame the wizard and his broomstick without touching them, as if they were covered with a thin layer of invisible waterproof material. The wind, however, cold and fierce, hitting the wizard's face and playing with his long, black hair, was fully making up for all the other disadvantages he managed to escape with a water repelling charm. He had a deep sigh, fastened the top one of the rhombus-shaped, purple buttons of his black overcoat and watched the last rays of sun vanish behind the mountains. As the time was passing with no result, he was becoming worried and impatient.

\- Lien, - he screamed on the top of his voice, closing his eyes in order to focus all the attention on catching a reply.

The name of the wizard was Euan Charles Lestrange, and he has spent last five hours searching for his thirteen year old daughter. If he was to believe the note she generously left before running away, breathtaking chain of mountains right in front was the place she would have reached at this point of her journey. The plan seemed to have been to get to the village just a few miles away by the sunset, but the unaccounted weather conditions must have decelerated her advancement by just about a few miles.

\- Dad?

Euan thought he has heard someone saying that in an unsure, questioning intonation, echoing with an unimposing hope and fear. He opened his eyes and flew closer to the rocks. The monosyllabic word that may or may not have been actually uttered was the only intimation he got. He took out his wand from pocket and pointed it forward, hardly having swung it. An uneven, unstable light poured from the tip, illuminating the view as a huge candle would.

Lestrange took a deep breath as he identified a familiar, thick rope stretching across very narrow, practically non-existing path. Oddly enough, the wizard found himself rather confident that nothing incorrigible did or was going to happen with his daughter. Some ten or eleven hours of no matter how heavy rain were far from being sufficient to seriously endanger her wellbeing. After all, she grew up climbing up rocks with him, and has by now became more prowess at it. Still, Euan almost physically felt the need to see her, ensure that she was well.

He slid his wand to the south and saw Lien standing on a ledge only large enough to contain her feet, her knees bent, providing with a greater stability. She was nervously trampling the worn-out pair of jeans she had on, and Euan remotely recalled buying it at a muggle shop last summer that was big on her at the time. As he flew closer, Lien quietly nodded, acknowledging his presence, and, before he could get close enough to converse, showed him to her right. Euan nodded, blew loosely on the tip of his wand, making the light shine stronger and flew into the cave Lien was pointing at.

Despite the scarce dimensions of the cave and low ceiling, Euan jumped off his broomstick without any visible effort, like he would have done twenty-three years ago, as the best beater Slytherin have had in generations he then was. Carefully placing the good old Cleansweep Five just above the dirty ground, letting it float, the wizard raised his wand and mildly waved it. The light condensed into a sphere and disengaged with the tip, hitting the ceiling and illuminating the entire cave.

Close to the ledge, just a few inches away from the entrance, Euan saw his own camping backpack, stuffed to the fullest of its capacity. Lien's once dark brown, now dirty beyond any recognition right boot carefully pushed it further into the cave, opening up some space for herself to enter. Her almost disproportionately large palm lied on the wall, getting a firm grip of a rugged stone. She was pulling herself in slowly, with a serious, prudent confidence of a person that has mastered the skill of balancing on edge as a second nature.

Euan smiled with relief and pride, watching Lien to straighten up. The water was dropping from the light yellow pullover and her short hair. She appeared to be shaking, likely from the cold, but there certainly was a reason to be proud of her. She was only thirteen years old and has been successfully surviving completely on her own for full ten days, with no magic at all.

\- You didn't have to come, - she said. She did not seem particularly happy about having been found. - I would have been fine.

As Lien lacked the courage to look her father into the eyes, she lowered her sight to the ground and sat beside the backpack, on a hand's distance from the hem of Euan's overcoat, taking off her pullover, stalling the apologies she thought were expected.

The cave she found just a few minutes ago, and after about an hour's potentially useless and most certainly dangerous climbing up and down steep rocks, could be seen as a decent one. The air was rather humid and there was a puddle, leaking from another tiny ledge further south, but, considering that the closest alternative was to stand somewhere, holding from whatever she could find at the moment to hold to, hanging from the rope under a howling rain, fighting sleep and waiting for it to clear up, Lien did think she would have been fine.

Euan did not rush with a reply, allowing his daughter some time to guess whether he was angry with her or not. He summoned the pack of wet sticks tied to his backpack and bent over, piling them together. He shoot a sparkle of fire on them from his wand, and, watching the wet wood to blacken without producing any heat, highly doubted that his daughter would have been fine tonight.

\- Seco, - said Lestrange moving the wand smoothly above the wood pile, drying it. He didn't really need to pronounce the spell, especially for a simple charm like this. He just thought the established silence needed to be broken.

With a similar, but somewhat more gracious and effortless confidence as that of Lien, Euan squatted and sat beside her, shooting another sparkle into the sticks, this time resulting in an actual mauve fire, shimmering in a colorful dance of blue and purple. He stretched his tensed legs across the dusty ground of the cave, and turned his sight to Lien, who was still looking down, as if contemplating her guilt. His hand longed to her shoulder, covered with the sticky wet fabric of gray shirt, but stopped midway.

\- There was not supposed to be any magic, - informed Lien.

\- Seems like it didn't work out, - simply observed Euan, sounding almost apologetic.

Lien silently nodded, not ready yet to admit that as the shadows were growing thicker and the rain more fierce, she was regretting not being indoors and hoping that Euan was searching for her. She was not intending to share the responsibility of her running away from the house with him, yet, here he was, with a clear determination to help, stripping her off the freedom to suffer the consequences.

Euan put his wand aside and carefully touched Lien's shoulder with his fingertip. She was freezing.

\- Lien, - he called, tightening his grip.

Lien turned to him, looking with an unsure, somewhat angry challenge, unapproving of all the convenient magic her father was throwing on her. Euan, concerned, was pulling out an enormous towel from his pocket, still firmly holding Lien's shoulder, as if afraid that she might run away again. Watching Euan struggle with the giant piece of fabric, she could not help to smile.

\- Disrobe, - he said somewhat imperatively.

Lien bit on her lower lip. It was quite tempting to turn around and tell her father that he was not welcome in her cave. She coughed, feeling her ears to ring, preceding a possible fever or further complications, and had a sigh.

She quickly took off her shirt and bended over to untie shoelaces. Once bright red, now covered in dried mud, they were stuck together. As the dirt cracked, peeling off and the ties loosened, Lien impatiently forced the shoes off her feet. Euan, putting part of the towel over her back, reached for his wand just in time to catch the boot that would have otherwise fallen to the abyss.

\- Takk, - Lien murmured, watching the shoe float back to the cave.

The wet, hardened fabric of old, usually soft and comfortable jeans, manufactured in a small town near Liverpool, was hard to get unstuck from her skin. Euan automatically swung his wand in Lien's direction, and the stubborn piece of clothing smoothly jumped off her legs and landed next to the fire.

Lien coughed and yawned, cold and exhausted. Worried, Lestrange dropped his wand, easily lifted her from the ground and put on his lap, right on the towel, and wrapped her up in it, from head to toe. Only her face, regaining a healthier color, and her dirty pink socks were peeking out from under the towel. Euan's large, strong palms squeezed Lien's shoulders, hurting her just a little bit, and turned her around, so that he could see her face.

She yawned again, inhaling the humid air, drowning in the warm comfort of the material cover and the proximity of her father. Euan hugged her, pressing to his chest with all his might, now allowing himself to comprehend and feel how worried and winded he was for his daughter until this very moment.

Lien took another deep breath, swallowing the tears conditioned by the tension she had to live through in the house she chose to leave without permission, the fear she had experienced in the last few hours and the sincere joy she was feeling from reuniting with Euan after about six months of separation. She has been missing him very much, but could not liberate her hands from his thin, yet strong arms to hug him back.

\- What has happened? - inquired Euan quietly, whispering just above Lien's ear.

She was not intending on giving her father an explanation of what has happened right now, when she was found so close to failing. The plan was to return in two weeks, triumphantly, with an interesting story to tell. A story interesting enough that Euan would let her go without suffering any serious consequences.

\- Mum saw me reading a muggle book, - she said, embarrassed to admit that she was caught. - The book Ted said I should read, - she went on, smiling for an instant. - How's Ted?

\- He's well, - replied Euan, also smiling with a bittersweet feeling upon remembering his amateur, unusually strong student he abandoned today in the afternoon. - Getting his PhD done.

Lien moved a bit, getting herself to a more comfortable position and trying to push the moment of the subject returning to what has happened. Euan enfeebled his hold of Lien, providing her with the freedom to move.

\- What did Jane do? - he asked.

His right hand, hurting from writing too much too often, slid off Lien's shoulder, stroking her back. There were this rare occasions when deep inside Euan was outraged, hateful towards his wife and could not bring himself to refer to her as the mother in Lien's presence. The current moment, heavy with the silence reflecting Lien's unwillingness to give an answer, was one of those occasions.

\- She got mad, - she said finally, in a low voice.

Jehanne Madelaine Lestrange, a pureblood witch from Crabbe family, was a nervous lady and was getting mad more often than one would expect from a reasonable adult. There was nothing extraordinary about the most recent instance, and Lien, being used to it, continued her narration in the same low, even intonation.

\- Tore the book in half.

Euan did not remember how his hand lied across Lien, pressing her to his chest, needlessly protecting her from an experience she had already gone through. He could picture the imposing, thin figure of Jane, shouting at Lien in a genuine belief that there is no other way for her, as a good parent, to correct the fallacious nature of the girl, telling her to get lost or taking Lien to her room, and having trouble to breathe, as the anger would be washing all over her.

\- I suppose she locked the door as well, - he unintentionally voiced after a short silence.

Euan felt Lien move slightly under his firm grip and yawn again. She didn't need to confirm the guess, as Jane locking her up in the luminous chamber of the northernmost corner of the castle was rather a routine procedure.

\- The bloody rotters, - said Lien, swallowing the umbrage of her helplessness, embarrassment on wanting to tell Euan what had happened, seeking his help, - would come in…

\- Lien, - interrupted Euan coldly. He didn't tolerate swearing.

Upon being interrupted, Lien thought that her father was not fair with her on this one. Rodolphus and Rabastan were bloody rotters, regardless of her stating so. She felt the resentment and sadness for herself evaporate, hardening her determination to deal with her problems on her own.

\- Rodolphus and Rabastan, - she started over, abiding, as not swearing aloud was one of very few things Euan was asking her to do, - would come in…

Lien paused, not willing to get into details. Euan could very well guessed himself what were his bloody annoying cousins coming to her room for.

\- By the third day I thought I had enough, - she concluded calmly. - I got out the window and climbed to your bedroom to gather the things I'd need and leave the note. Did you get the note?

\- I did, - said Euan, taking off his boots, somehow managing to do that with Lien still on his lap, and putting them next to the broom, carefully as not to damage either of his belongings.

Rushly folded piece of parchment, covered in what would appear to most of the people senseless strings of letters and numbers was to be found in his drawer, next to where he usually kept his backpack. Having developed some liking for muggle cryptography, Lien has used a very simple shift cipher to tell Euan about the rout she was planning to take and that she was going to be back by the twenty second of july, a few days after Euan was to be back from conference in Bonn. She could have had used a spell to encode the letter, if she was skilled enough with charms, but that would have been very vulnerable to being discovered and read by her way more experienced mother or uncles, whereas a simple piece of paper with no magical trace was safe and sound until Euan, for whom it was meant, saw it.

\- Well done, by the way, - said Lestrange, quoting the amateur and surprisingly strong student of his, that was currently working on PhD. Lien smiled.

Muggle Theodore Thompson had a dual degree in Security Engineering and Geology and, although his true academic passion lied in later, he liked to brag every now and then about various ciphers. Coincidentally, despite being twelve years her senior, he was pretty much the only friend Lien had, and has taught her some simple tricks that did not involve complex algebra. He would have been excited to learn that Lien has used his knowledge to communicate a secret and would have most certainly said "well done, by the way", among many other comments.

It took Euan a solid hour to decrypt the message. He did not happen to absorb all the wisdom Ted was occasionally throwing at him in an unorganised manner and had a rather rudimentary understanding of modular arithmetics that lie in basis of shift codes, so, Lien's choice to leave a note was a bit of a headache in the end.

\- I thought I should leave you a note just in case, - answered Lien an unposed question.

She knew her absence wouldn't be of great importance to any of the people she left behind in the manor. She knew neither of them would be bothered enough to contact Euan and inform him about it. It was in fact curious and surprising that someone actually spared their precious time to do so.

\- Dad, - she went on quietly, rising a bit and looking on Euan, straight into his juniper green, almond-shaped eyes.

She sounded concerned, as she was realizing that her father being here meant he was not at the conference in Bonn he was looking so much forward to.

\- You must have missed Ted's presentation.

\- I did, - said Euan without much regret. A nice room in the hotel, paid for by his university, and a glass of scotch with his colleagues in the evening was all he had to compromise. - I didn't have much of a choice, really, - he smiled, - it was either listening him rumble about volcanic granites or making sure my brat did not get herself into trouble.

Lien fell on Euan, taking him out of balance, too, and finally liberating her hands from his weakened hold, hugged him herself. It was perhaps a bad thing, but she was very content that her father chose to come to her above supporting his PhD student on his first presentation in front of the most renowned experts in the field. She felt guilty on some level, for being the reason, but she had absolute confidence that no one was going to pull Euan out of his conference for her, and thus did not feel the responsibility to be hers.

Euan smiled widely and got above Lien in one quick move, covering both of them in the giant towel. Lien started to laugh, forgetting the fear she has gone through in last hours. Euan gently kissed her forehead, inhaling the strangely refreshing smell of rain and mud.

\- I got very worried, you know? - he asked, trying his best not to sound as if he was blaming Lien.

She stopped laughing, her hands loosening and sight turning to a side.

\- Sorry․

\- No, - cut Euan very seriously, lying beside Lien, - don't be.

His long, obsidian hair covered up Lien's face. She laughed again, looking to the sphere of light floating just below the ceiling through a dark, partitioned curtain. She had a beautiful, contagious laugh, and Euan laughed with her, too.

\- I want you never to be afraid to ask me for help, - he informed, - brat.

\- Brat, - echoed Lien with a pretentious anger and pushed Euan with her elbow, through a thick layer of fluffy towel, moving him by a fraction of an inch.

\- Brat, - confirmed Euan, smiling, in his turn grabbing her head and pressing to himself, provoking a loud, cheerful laughter. - How did your second semester go?

Lien closed her eyes, thinking how to start.

\- The second semester of the second year, - she said slowly, still thinking.

\- Ja, the one, - confirmed Euan, raising and bending over Lien, suspecting that something has gone wrong during the semester in question.

Lestrange has hardly gotten the chance to talk to her since January. He was often busy putting together the conference happening at this very moment in Bonn and working for his uncle at their ancestral establishment producing apparating powder, as well as Lien did not like writing letters or talking with him through magical mediums. So, Euan did not have much of an idea how she has been doing. He looked at her rather intently, as she was mastering the courage to inform him.

\- I failed the Potions class, - she said finally.

Euan bended closer, his hair touching Lien's nose. He has had lots of trouble passing Potions, too. There was a faint recollection of Lien mentioning something about it in the beginning of year, but he failed to pay attention to it at a time.

\- I made the cut for Herbology, - she continued, embarrassed for herself, trying to somehow restate the fact of almost having failed it, too.

Most of the Herbology classes were spend in the garden, looking after the plants that were assigned to her cousin, who had persuasive enough friends currently attending Hogwarts. However, she did not want to tell that excuse to Euan. Her inability to stand up for herself was a problem she considered to be hers only.

\- I could… - Euan stopped for a second, reconsidering the choice of the word. Perhaps he needed to sound more determined. - We will study together this summer.

Lien nodded without any enthusiasm. She could recognize it when Euan was serious and there was absolutely no way he would change his mind. The thought of spending evenings in a classroom in a muggle university, reciting magical plants and their properties, while muggles would sip from the tenth mug of steaming coffee, cracking an unresolved question of modern science in a passionate excitement, made her sigh with an acceptance of a person that was doomed for life.

\- Come on, now, - said Euan almost apologetically, raising and looking around for something to distract the conversation from the current thread.

He stretched to take off Lien's dirty pink socks, something he should have done earlier. She absent-mindedly followed his pale, thin hand cover her legs to warm them up, debating whether to tell him about the rest of her exams, all completed with a perfect or a nearly perfect score.

\- Lien.

Euan's voice sounded concerned. He reached for his wand and directed the light closer to Lien's left foot. Just above her ankle there was a slight, blue rush, surrounding two long, although not too deep scratches that reminded of a bite mark. There were also couple of pimples, filled with what appeared to be light-blue liquid.

\- Does it hurt? - he asked, gently pressing the skin next to it. Lien shook her head negatively, straightening up.

\- Probably just a Dental Nettle, - proposed Euan thoughtfully. - Nothing to be worried about, - he added reassuringly.

Lestrange lied down. The sphere of light floated up, illuminating most of the cave. Euan was thinking really hard, recollecting all he knew about Dental Nettles. Remembering the rush, he corrected himself.

\- Or a Dental Nettle Lengua Caeruleus.

He looked on Lien, hiding his smile. It would have been oddly funny if he failed at recognising the magical plant her skin came to contact with right after he threatened to educate her about magical plants and their properties. It has always been of an interest to Euan that the magical plants, even when growing in most ordinary locations, bit or scratched muggles with a negligible frequency, but were sure to catch a wizard.

\- Still nothing to be worried about, - he said. - Might get a little itchy later.

Lien rolled over in the towel, covering herself up in the warmth and the feeling of security it was providing. Although still angry for the future Herbology lessons, she made the decision to share the good news as well.

\- Marvelous, - commented Euan, teasing.

The second year was certainly not the most demanding one, and a perfect score on a final did not really mean awfully a lot, and Euan knew that.

\- Do you want to stay here for the night? - he asked, taking off his coat and also getting covered up in the towel that due to its size could serve just as well as a blanket.

Lien readily nodded. She would in fact be thrilled to stay here until September, even if that meant continuous study of the grass growing in the cave, instead of going back to home.

\- All right then, - decided Euan.

He put his wand aside, close to the fire. The light slowly dimmed to nothingness. Euan yawned, summoning his backpack to use it as a pillow. Lien drugged his hand in her direction, also claiming it as a pillow. She nervously stuck her nose to her father's chest, spinning inside her mind a question that has been haunting her since March, when she overheard a classmate to voice his intent of escaping from his house one day.

\- Dad, - she whispered, hopping Euan was not sleeping yet. He hummed questioningly, inviting her to continue. - Why don't we go live alone?

Euan opened his eyes. He felt sad and guilty again for forcing his daughter through all the experiences that were associated with coexisting with the rest of his family in the same building. The thought of leaving the manor for good has been occurring to him since long before Lien was born, on far more regular basis, and has caused a few complications.

\- Because that would break your grandfather's heart, - he answered honestly.

\- I guess that would, - agreed Lien disappointedly. She wanted to wander further why the integrity of her grandfather's heart was a concern, but decided not to.

Euan closed his eyes again, having a sigh.

\- When we get back, I'd like you to apologise to your mother if she appears to be expecting that, - he said coldly.

This was another of those times when Euan was not about to change his mind regardless of many things, and Lien could sense that. She knew something along those lines was in order, so she nodded without any enthusiasm, putting a lot of hope on the ambiguity of the condition.

Lestrange put his free hand over her, hugging. Gratitude for her existence and maturity filled him up, reminding once again how much he was missing her in all the past months.

The howling wind and the sound of raindrops hitting rocks on the other side of the cave seemed to have only grown stronger, separating them from the rest of the world, hiding and protecting them from all that could have threatened their unity.

\- Dad, - called Lien after a few minutes of silence, this time excitedly, as she remembered there was a multitude of stories to tell. - I met this man in Talgarth, he fought in a muggle war, with bullets and helicopters…

And talked well past midnight, telling about most unusual muggles she encountered.


	2. Welcome

Jane tilted her head sideways, following the old house elf, whose unusually large head was floating just above the table as he walked serving wine. His fingers were thin and long, suggesting Jane to squeeze them just around the almost perfectly round-shaped knuckles and watch them break. Instead she thoughtfully slid her silver fork through the slice of meat on her plate and, once the elf filled her glass with shimmering red liquid, raised it to the level of her bright blue eyes.

The crimson armchair with a coffee stain the elf failed to remove reflected in the inner wall of the transparent goblet, creating a nice selection of various shades of red and purple. Jane emptied the cup at once and put it on the table, determined not to complete the thought that cut through her mind and demanded attention.

\- Jane.

Jane smiled at her brother in law, a far less handsome Lestrange than the one she married.

\- Reuben, - she replied, taking a bite of her bleeding slice of raw beef.

\- It appears that your spouse did not make it home last night.

Jane cut another piece of the muscle, reminded of the job she was returning to in less than 24 hours and a job she was enjoying. She was not listening to Reuben, still engaged with the thought she did not intend to pursue. The coffee stain as viewed without distortion was of the exact color as the leather boots, and the raw muscle with even edged cuts was a reminder of the ward she saw those boots in.

The dream came two moons prior the current morning, with a stinging burning feeling on her right forearm that persisted all the way through, more realistic that anything she had experienced before, covered under the long sleeves of her light summer dress.

\- That would be a shared impression. - Jane confirmed. _The ward, full of suspect wizards with missing limbs, tied to their beds with all imaginable measures, was illuminated with soft red light of the dawn._

\- I would not be surprised if that chimp of yours, - Lestrange sipped from his cut-glass mug, as if discussing the most remote topic and not his own niece.

_Jane stood in the corner of luminous, large room, holding a clipboard and a quill over her rounded, 3-months pregnant belly. She had just recorded the stable hopeless state of a once respected wizard in both conflicting communities, now an aging convicted murderer and a convenient source of unharmed organs._

_Jane's attention however was captured by the bed in the exact geometric center of the ward, occupied by an unconscious teenage girl who she was told was to be treated with the double of the caution that a regular criminal would get._

_The boot she had on her right leg was made of artificial leather, reaching all the way to the knee. Her left leg was shining with unhealthy glitter of sweat, covered in bleeding cuts and oddly shaped deep wounds reminding of bite marks. _

_A young wizard sat next to her, on fresh sheets stained with blood. His hand gently rested on girl's bare shoulder, while he was carefully and slowly cleaning the wounds with a piece of wet fabric. His oddly familiar, beautiful serious face bore nothing but infinite affection for the girl, who Jane could diagnose as a lost cause with little doubt._

\- she had it coming...

Jane was a Seer. Visions of her own future would come to her in unorganised, incomprehensible bits, once in a decade, so she never mastered the courage to admit her gift and consider the information it provided worth something.

\- Reuben, - she interrupted in a sweet, dangerous voice of the most innocent and polite adolescent. - An embarrassing disgrace she is, I do not appreciate others insulting my daughter.

\- I apologise, - admitted Reuben with a wide grin.

Jane had another glass of red wine. She was good in her casual, effortless elegance. The thought was rather a pleasant one, and Jane felt the corners of her lips twitch in a faint imitation of self-satisfaction.

\- Would you agree though, dear, - Lestrange continued, spreading bright red colored cream over a slice of bread, - that when your husband and child are absent the aura is measurably better?

Jane stood up, as if there was no question posed.

\- I certainly would, - contributed Rodolphus Lestrange, swallowing the last bite of his portion of raw beef. - Father, - he added with a genuine fear and respect, as the later threw at him disapproving look.

\- Come, - sighed Jane, nodding to Rodolphus and gesturing to follow her. - I had a sheep brought in you can practice on this afternoon.

Younger Lestrange produced an exclamation of excitement that would damage most human beings with functional mental health and jumped up, almost running after Jane.

* * *

Sun of the chilling, white twilight cut through the thick clouds, casting dull, cold light on Cleansweep Five and the wizard on it. Euan felt a raindrop to hit his neck and slide down, beneath his shirt. The soft batiste fabric of rich mint color stuck to his skin in a narrow, thin line. Sharp and freezing, it made him straighten up and breath in with longing, as if the air was being cut. Lien, whose hands were locked around his waist tight enough to hurt, squinted in an instantaneous fear as he moved.

Euan could remember Lien riding on a broomstick she borrowed from her cousins without permission on regular basis, outspeeding experienced adults - mostly himself - chasing her in an attempt to stop. It has been a while she seemed to be uninterested in such stunts, and, relieved he was for the first month, it soon became evident that Lien had acquired certain unwillingness to ride, bordering with a genuine inability, and that made him worried.

Lestrange decelerated, feeling his daughter to somewhat loosen and take a deep breath. She leaned at him, anxiously counting the seconds before landing.

The castles of their ancestors, hidden from the sight of muggles with high walls of strong and ancient charms, were now visible from behind the elms and beeches. Shining blue goldstone covering the roof of the towers was unwelcoming as ever, approaching faster than Lien would like it to. She was unsure which prospect sounded less appealing: more time on the broom or the pending confrontation with the most proximal of her ancestors.

A warm wave of energy greeted them, as the barrier found them eligible to pass. For a split second Euan felt fading spirits, once inhabiting the land he grew up on, now vanishing into nothingness under the weight of time, to envelop him, throwing at him whatever was still remaining, in a usual attempt to pass their being to something still alive.

Lestrange smiled. Since young age it was a pleasure for him to experience the stories of the past; to become someone else in a vague, undefined sense, and forget it almost immediately. Lien, on the other hand, was met by repelling reflection of her own anticipation, vain and futile.

Euan made a turn, circling the field surrounding the grounds of the castle in a large ring, gradually lowering the height to avoid abrupt maneuvers that he was afraid might scare Lien. She hugged him tighter again, not moving until her feet hit the stone road leading to the gates.

Well preserved skulls of giants and goblins were floating around, constituting an unambiguous warning about the descendants of the people that had acquired them in a fair battle of glorious past. Glowing spears composing the gates bent sideways, opening an entrance.

Lien pressed her right boot to the ground, taking a few seconds to convince herself that it was solid enough before she decided to climb off the broomstick. Her arms relaxed, disengaging with Euan, and crossed across her chest for a second in a subconscious attempt to close up, protect from the hostile environment.

Lestrange jumped off with an almost demonstrative ease, not knowing how to state the obvious problem or how to approach it. Instead he put his hand around Lien, uncompromisingly guiding her toward the castle. She pressed her open palm against his coat, unsure whether to go along with him or stand as firm as she could, pushing the moment she had to meet her mother and offer a plausible explanation she did not bother to come up with.

\- Mum will…

Lien's somewhat hoarse voice disappeared in the soft thickness of the white cotton scarf. She stopped right behind Euan and breathed in the cold air to start again, but changed her mind before the words came out.

Lestrange had a sigh and stopped too. He dragged Lien closer to himself, letting her drop on him and pressed her harder, afraid that he might lose her again. The frustrating awareness that she would outspeed him if she were to run away hang in the air.

\- Be nice, - said Euan in a simple, calm intonation that yet somehow made Lien feel obliged to do her best. - She was worried...

\- Damn sure she was, - cut Lien in a hiss before her father could finish and pulled the scarf down, exposing herself to the wind.

\- In her own way, - nodded Euan, now cold and detached.

\- I'm sorry, - said Lien with some hesitation, slowly and unwillingly, apologising not so much for having sworn out loud, as for running from the house.

Euan squatted with a quiet sigh, carefully sliding his hand across Lien, fighting the temptation to apologise himself, lift her from the ground, hold in his strong thin arms and turn around to hop on old Cleansweep Five and ride away. He caught the pale green of her wide open, rather worried eyes.

\- Is that right? - he questioned with a faint smile.

Lestrange knew his daughter well enough not to doubt that she meant what she said. It was a tough road to her admitting she had done something she should have not, but it never led to an acceptance she did not feel. At least not with him.

Lien nodded with no confidence, but, encouraged with the unserious attitude Euan was clearly implying, smiled back. Euan straightened up, longing for the spacious pocket of his coat.

\- Here is something you could do, - he informed, producing his wand and pointing it on Lien. - Hold still for me.

Lien looked at the scratched tip of old, rough juniper with slight caution, guessing which non-verbal charm was vibrating in its core. The unpleasant and by now familiar feeling of golden, spiral shaped spell touched her bare legs, transfiguring the comfortable, quiet modern pair of shorts made of neo-blue denim into one of those tight long dresses her old grandmother would wear.

\- Dad.

She stood still as she was asked to, in anger, disorientedly watching the gray t-shirt with large print on she borrowed from Ted in the beginning of the year to turn into a pink blouse just as disgusting and restricting as the dress.

\- Child? - replied Euan with a wide smile, not offended in a slightest.

Slim the chance was, he hoped Jehanne Madelaine would appreciate the presentable appearance of her disobedient daughter - which was a small compensation to disappearing without a trace or warning - at least to a degree of not mentioning it.

\- Shut up, - said Lien, frowning. Seconds ago there was an honest conviction that she had actually brought this on herself and thus had deserved to suffer the consequences. It was now gone.

Euan did not reply. He had mixed feelings on the matter.

\- I didn't, - he heard Lien mumble, - mean to…

She felt silent without concluding the sentence. Her sight was still fixed at Euan, demanding an explanation and, in a less conscious way, a promise that she will get through. The anticipation of scolding and punishment, biting her just as fine as the uncomfortable clothes her father had wrapped her up in, was getting more than she could handle alone.

\- Cheer up, - said Euan with the usual calmth and confidence that made Lien feel reassured. - It is quite alright to read muggle books, - he continued. - Just be… discreet about it.

\- I got caught on the third one, - said Lien in her defense.

\- Good, - smiled Euan. - What were the other two?

Lien did not answer at once. She pulled the edge of the blouse as hard as she could, watching Euan open the inner gates with an elegant, slight twitch of his wand. Huge door covered with engravings of ancient runes and spells, shimmering with a gentle, colorless light slid, offering a passage.

\- Lord of the Flies, - said Lien with an air of excitement, giving another unsuccessful attempt to tearing the clothes apart. She had a sigh with dreadful acceptance and punched Euan, soft enough to be ignored. - Countable and Uncountable...

Euan ran a hand through Lien's hair, stopping her from finishing the sentence that might have contained a muggle word sure to set her mother off, if the later were within an earshot. He directed the tip of his wand towards the ground, hesitant to put it away, and stepped into the building with no good expectations, his hand still on Lien's head.

\- Ja, - he agreed out of the context.

Lestrange hold his breath without even realising having done so and went ahead. The rather unusual and impractical architecture of the manor made it impossible to guess which room the main door will lead one to. On top of that it was not uncommon for him to be greeted with a jinx or two when he was younger, making it a habit to be cautious when using the main entrance.

This time the door opened itself on the balcony of the third floor, with a view that often reflected the mood and magical skill of the people on it. Whatever it meant, the bright lime sun now covered about the third of the astonishing blue horizon, contrasting the reality.

Embarrassing and maddening it was, stepping into the warm, luminous terrace Lien was scared, her mind spinning with horrific scenarios exponentially less likely to occur. It felt as if her throat was restrained by a rod cutting the air. Loud inhuman screams source of which she could not even phantom and identifiable distant voices of her mother and cousin were not exactly helping.

\- Be nice, - repeated Euan. Or Lien thought she heard him whisper so before his hand dropped on her shoulder, turned her around and pressed to himself, forbidding from watching that what he saw. There was a thick smell of iron, leading Lien to believe something was bleeding and has been bleeding for a while.

\- Jane.

Lien felt her father's waist to jolt as he acknowledged the presence of his wife in a plain voice, and her heart skipped a beat.

\- Rod…

\- Uncle!

The exclamation that interrupted Euan conducted in a familiar hated voice of his eldest nephew sounded way too excited to be genuine. Rodolphus Lestrange gave his uncle an unpleasant grin. He was missing a tooth that was never recovered for an unknown reason that made his smile even less natural than it already was.

\- I was hoping you will not be joining us until… well, ever, - he informed.

\- Ditt jævla forpulte rasshøl! - Lien hissed.

Rodolphus turned his back, pretending to be mature and ignoring the little insult in his address.

\- Lien! - warned Euan, surprised on not having noticed how his grip got loose enough for Lien to disengage and step aside. She was growing up, becoming stronger and more autonomous with a speed Euan was not following too well, and the realisation of that rather natural fact was a stinging feeling in the back of his head.

Lien did not pay him much attention, occupied with the view Euan apparently did not want her to see. Her mother - a tall witch with gorgeous waterfall of fire red hair and a tight maroon dress reaching just below her knees - stood close to the handrail, her wand pointed forward in an unusual, twisted motion. She turned her sight to her husband and daughter for a short second, her face beaming with the kind of passionate concentration that would make one beautiful and appealing. Her eyebrows plucked out and her teeth dyed black in the best traditions of muggle Heian, Jane did not look remotely beautiful or appealing.

In between herself and Rodolphus was the floating bleeding source of screams. It was an immobilised, fully conscious lamb with its stomach sliced open, serving the educational needs of aspiring healer surgeon, currently dissecting its gallbladder with no apparent knowledge of how to do it properly.

\- Lose the wand, - Jane demanded in a threatful ringing tone. The lamb gave a wild twitch with its entire body and fell silent for a moment as the numbing charm Euan managed to conjure in its direction passed through it.

\- Jehanne, - sighed Euan in a perfect French accent and with a passive condemnation that both he and his wife knew was not going to result in an action.

His main concern was Lien, who did not seem affected by the impossible cruelty she was witnessing, and, not without regret and disappointment in himself, Euan dropped his wand into the spacious pocket of his overcoat. The lamb, now experiencing the pain as from the scratch, continued scream and cough at a deafening volume.

The stinging feeling became louder in Euan's mind, reminding that just couple of years ago he would not have hesitated to fight Jane, if that meant he could help the lamb. Now, a more mature adult, he preferred the fragile comfort that came with not duelling Jane and letting an innocent creature suffer a horrible death. He felt ashamed of himself and of being such in front of his daughter.

\- I do not believe... - he started, not finding the right words to put his thoughts into a safe, yet meaningful statement.

\- Huh! - Rodolphus slid his hand right below the diaphragm, verifying something he believed he sensed.

Euan lost his decisiveness and stepped towards the door that now led to the dining hall on the third floor of the castle, certain that Lien will follow him. She breathed in the unsettling smell of flowing blood, punishing herself for unwillingness and inability to help the lamb. She tried to listen to and remember the fading screams, she tried not to think of hot mulberry tea Jingie the house elf would be ordered to make for her and the fact that she seemed to have gotten off the hook exactly because her mother was engaged with cutting something open with no consideration for the thing.

However, Rodolphus seemed to have been granted full responsibility over the animal, enabling Jane to deal with her daughter.

\- Gwendolien Jehanné Lestrange.

Lien stopped and turned around, looking at glitter shoes on high heels Jane wore as muggles wear sleepers, comfortably and casually.

\- What were you thinking, - she asked in an even and distant, almost pleasant and reassuring voice, containing the rage she had been experiencing, - whippersnapper?

\- N… Nothing, - answered Lien loosely, still looking at the pointed shining toes of her mother's shoes.

Jane pointed her wand right above her shoulder, as if threatening, and made a step in her direction. Small advancement that had Lien jumping up and landing a few feet behind where she was standing, her hands clenched into steady fists, placed in front of her chest in a practical position that would have been quiet advantageous in an actual hand to hand combat.

\- Ma'am, - she added with a hint of challenge, her sight now fixed on the wand. It was a short, thick stick, made of palm tree and phoenix core, its shape twisted and bent, reflective, as Lien believed, of the crooked nature of its owner.

She glanced at Euan, who could not help smiling with a certain pride for her. He was just about to intervene and tell Lien to apologise, but had leaned to the wall, allowing her to stand up for herself.

The square tip of the wand moved in the slightest and, before the motion was followed by a charm, Lien found herself on the outside of its range. The bigger part of her weight rested on her left leg as she slid her right one across the floor, putting it behind herself, at left. The grandma dress was making the stunt harder and more frustrating than it should have been, but far from making it impossible.

\- This is about time you learned to behave yourself, - hissed Jane, her wand slashing the air, shooting at Lien a legal, not as powerful variation of Cruciatus Curse. Her beautiful although browless face was now threatening, out of control and deeply unpleasant.

At first, she was approaching Lien with no intention of hurting. It was the fast primitive wild reaction that set her off.

Lien lost her balance, as if it was a material thing that could have been denied her in an instant. She observed herself fall on knees, short of breath, as if her body was an autonomous entity. Her stomach twisted with a sudden, short pulse of pain. The shining tiles of the terrace floor spinned in an unpredictable, meaningless dance.

\- Enough.

She felt the magical energy of her father pierce through her in thousands of warm gentle needles. His voice - calm and uncompromising - pulled her mind out the state reduced to perception of pain and spinning tiles. Lien climbed up on her feet and made a few steps backwards, in Euan's direction, regretting all the rebellion she had ever conducted.

Jane threw a glance at Rodolphus and his now dead educational tool. She waived her wand in their direction, spilling the anger at the lamb, vanishing its corpse with an unprofessional explosion. It would have been a righteous pleasure to accomplish the first curse, to compensate the singular sleepless night she spent worrying about Lien's whereabouts.

\- Lestrange, - she smiled somehow defeated. Jane never called Euan by his name. He was the Lestrange she had to marry, nothing more. - This one here, - she pointed at Lien with her short, crooked wand, walking straight on Euan, - finds it acceptable to disappear and wander off dung knows where, because you, - her wand was now pointing right at his solar plexus, - are a spineless, hopeless retard.

\- Of course, there will be consequence to wandering around, - said Euan, as if stating a matter of fact, lovingly stroking Lien's fluffy hair and not paying any attention to the wand. - Under no circumstances that will be a torturing curse.

Jane smiled wider, less happily. She snapped her fingers, lifting the transfiguration charm from Lien's cloths. Despite her higher status in wizarding world and far better magical education, that simple counter spell required her to put in certain effort. It felt like a slap right across her pale face to be confronted by what she considered to be Euan's pure talent and no hard work.

\- Pretending to be worth something, - she said, her mean voice giving away a slight ring of helplessness, - magician.

Lien hid herself behind her father, feeling another wave of relief swipe over her. She was recognising the often occurring situation in which her parents would exchange insults, offering her the freedom to relocate herself, possibly into the vast green grounds of the castle.

Euan, as he did most of the times, ignored the comment about his wizarding dignity. Instead he gently pulled Lien back next to himself.

\- Did not you want to apologise? - he wondered.

Lien looked to a side. Rodolphus was critically examining his own wand, for the first time covered in dried blood of an actual creature, completely consumed into the process. His face was glowing with a fascination and some sort of disbelief that he had just now ruthlessly tortured a living creature for absolutely no reason.

\- Lien? - Euan pushed with a clear expectation of an answer.

Lien had a deep sigh, remembering about the Herbology lessons she was to undergo. It was not yet the point where Euan would be absolutely impossible to negotiate with, so she chose not to be nice.

\- Nope. - she said hardly audibly, still looking somewhere behind Rodolphus.

\- How?...

Prior to coming up with the words to express her feelings upon that rejection, Jane raised her hand, longing to slap Lien. That would have been her frustration with her husband's painfully evident magical superiority, with her own incompetence to nurture her daughter and with the arrogant, plain, muggle-like ''nope''. Instead her hand swayed through air, as Lien tilted slightly backwards.

\- Lien, - repeated Euan patiently, still holding his daughter and getting more serious. The point where he would implement the promised consequences was approaching rapidly, the pleasantness of consequences directly proportional to Lien's collaboration.

\- This is what you get, uncle, - contributed Rodolphus, approaching, - from letting little children play with… - he paused for an expressive instant. - muggles, - he concluded with an obvious disgust.

\- Those low lives are no good, - added Jane with a nodd. It was almost a game for her: pushing Lien to a point of reacting such that her husband would be more or less forced to agree with punishing her.

\- I did nothing wrong, - snapped Lien. - No one would live in this madhouse with idiots...

She had grown immune to being told about how disgraceful, shameless and ungrateful disappointment she was. It was different when they were aiming at his father's muggle colleagues and Ted in particular. If Euan was not next to her, his large, heavy hand on her shoulder, she would have had that light-weight imitation of a adolescent human male that happened to be her cousin flat on his back, regretful of having opened his mouth.

\- Grounded. - cut Euan before she could say anything more. - Until...

\- For the summer, - completed Jane, smiling all the way up to her little pale ears. - I do not wish to see you anywhere near the gates, Gwendolien. Do you understand me?

\- But, - Lien could feel her voice grow smaller, less important and more scared as she heard herself whisper the objection. She turned to Euan. - I want to see Ted...

\- Well, dear, - smiled Rodolphus, his voice pure sugar, - I want a good, functioning witch for my little sister. We do not get all that we want, do we?

\- Get lost! - screamed Lien. She jumped up, aiming to hit him, right into his slim, oddly curved chest, but Euan easily put her down.

\- You heard your mother, - he shrugged. Jane had compromised all the way from Cruciatus to simple grounding in the end, and it would have not been polite to require more of her. - I still would like you to apologise, - he added with an iron-clear expectation.

The first second Lien wanted to express the hatred she felt towards Euan. It was as if he was the sole obstacle standing between her and Ted doing muggle mathematics, practicing muggle combat techniques and eating fruit salads for all meals. The next moment she remembered that her father would often be part of all the fun, and that she in fact loved him very much.

Thus, instead she punched him as hard as she could, swallowed the anger boiling inside her and ran into the house.


	3. Conversations Here and There

_We will create the Good from the Evil, as there is nothing else to create it from. _

_Strugatsky brothers, "Roadside Picnic"_

Euan Lestrange stopped in the middle of a wide corridor illuminated with unnatural golden light. The charms sustaining it were wearing out, so that strange patterns and shadows would often appear on the walls, merging and vanishing with no apparent logic. Closer to the ceiling there was an odd image of nested silhouettes, cast by the blurry reflection of the steam, rising from the surface of the hot soup he had brought.

Euan snapped his fingers, and the artificial light faded away, replaced by shades of the carmine dusk. He then turned around, facing a metal door that separated the room he had once occupied himself from the area in space he was occupying at the moment. His thin fingers gently hit the cold, repelling smooth surface of it, producing a dull sound.

The response came rather loud and discouraging.

\- Bog off!

Euan pulled down the door handle to no avail and had a deep breath, reminding himself that his daughter was in the tender age of transitioning from a child to a teenager and required patience.

\- That is not a way to talk to your father, Lien, - he said. In a calm, narrating manner.

The metal door slid back, opening a passage for a thin strip of dull warm light. There was a pale smell of piled up laundry and unfresh food that hit his nose, as Euan pushed the door further and stepped in. Lien's was a large room, with a few inch wide window, stretching from floor to the ceiling.

\- I thought it's Jingie, - said Lien quietly, presenting the excuse for her profane greeting, as if that was a valid justification.

She dropped down on the bed without looking at Euan, defensively hugging one of the pillows scattered around the room, with her bare legs crossed in front of her. She was in a brown shirt with a brightly colored, low-quality print of a hamburger on it, covered in stains of mud and perhaps ice cream.

Euan had a sit on the corner of her bed. Uncomfortably, deliberately choosing to be as far from her as he could. The fragile yet tangible barrier that seemed to have risen between them over past few hours he had allowed Lien to be left alone was now concerning.

\- That is not a way to talk to Jingie either, - said Euan with a slight caution, mildly. He could see that Lien was upset and had very limited tolerance for him at the moment. He was watching her with attention and care, considering all the possible approaches he could think of, carefully balancing the tray with dinner he had brought on his left hand.

She did not look at him. It was still rather odd for her, seeing Euan treat their house elf with all the respect a good wizard would receive. However, as there were more prominent issues at hand, she did not react. She was trembling the pillow, spilling at it the anger and destructiveness she would have directed at Euan otherwise.

\- How is your leg? - he asked.

\- As if you cared! - snapped Lien, even before processing the question. She was tense։ a canned reaction, ready to burst at any given moment.

Euan had slowly placed the tray on a long forgotten textbook and was now deciding where to locate the spoon he had produced from the pocket of his shirt, appearing as if that simple, unimportant task was claiming the best of his mind.

\- I do. - he replied, still thoughtfully rotating the spoon in between his thin fingers. - I care.

Lien pulled herself over, flavoring the tension build up in her muscles. With a gruff sound she found herself closer to her father, the tension lifting from her hands and the pillow dropping to the wooden floor. Being angry with him was not exactly a voluntary or a conscious choice she had made.

\- Would you mind if I had a look? - asked Euan gently, finally putting the spoon on a relatively clean section of the surface of the desk.

Lien nodded after a second's thought. She moved to the edge of her bed and lifted the leg in question extending it in Euan's direction. He twisted his thumb and middle finger in a peculiar way, pointing towards a fashionable ambiguous shape of Prussian production floating just below the ceiling, turning it into a sphere glowing with a bright yellow light, sufficient to illuminate the room as the sun would on a good day.

\- I suggest...

Euan paused, as he had to be mindful of times when it was in his daughter's best interest to receive a well-formed, strict instruction on what was expected of her, as opposed to passively offering an insight and expecting her to make a reasonable choice.

\- Your mother ought to have a look, too, - he said.

\- Not the damn witch! - interrupted Lien without much thought, spitting out "witch" very much like her mother pronounced "muggle", as a self-explanatory insult.

\- Tomorrow at latest, - continued Euan, ignoring that.

\- Fine! - Lien cut again with a clear challenge.

Her fingers slid through the inch-wide distance between the wall and her bed, grabbing the mattress. She pulled herself to the cold wall, folding her legs in a perfect lotus pose in front of her. She had a loud sigh, communicating the increase of her frustration with the presence of her father.

\- Are you angry with me? - inquired Euan. In that exact intonation he could have inquired whether Lien would prefer an apple over a pie, or whether it was raining or not. He was calm and equally accepting of both answers, in a way that disarmed Lien, stripped her off the sass and anger for an instant, made her feel the ridiculousness of her earlier exclamations.

\- I miss Ted, - she informed instead of an answer, getting worked up again. - I haven't seen him since March.

\- March, - echoed Euan, at first completely neutrally. He slowly turned back, now facing his daughter, who was still a few seconds away from realising that she had - without a prompt, given away an information she most certainly shouldn't have had. - That was around the time you were supposed to turn beetles into buttons and back, - Euan hypothesised, growing sarcastic and granting Lien the hint that she was now perhaps in a bigger trouble than she was a minute ago, - was it not?

Lien remained silent, catching the moment of Euan getting serious and distant. Until that moment he was negotiating, hoping to reconnect, and now he was reduced to an adult, doing his stupid adult thing. She threw a glance in his direction, hoping that he was smiling.

\- How did you manage that? - asked Euan.

Part of him was genuinely curious how was his twelve year old, admittedly below average of a wizard daughter able to either travel in and out an elite school of Witchcraft and Wizardry or smuggle in a fully grown muggle into there without anyone - including the muggle, noticing. Part of him was worried that was possible.

\- I… uh, - Lien paused, picking the right word, - _borrowed_ an invisibility cloak from a… - she paused again, trying to decide how to describe her practically non-existent relationship with the owner of the rare gudget, - a classmate. Then there is a tunnel from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade. - Lien threw a glance at Euan again. He was not appreciating what he was hearing. - Right across the Snakehole… the Dungeons.

\- Yes, - confirmed Euan after a short silence. - there is a tunnel right across the… Dungeons.

He would have said Snakehole if he weren't angry, which, as Lien was getting more and more convinced in, he very much was.

\- I flooed to London from the post office, - she finished up with no taste for the otherwise a thrilling adventure. - It was easy from there.

\- You can be really bad at telling stories sometimes, - concluded Euan with mixed feelings, following another few seconds of heavy silence. He could not help feeling proud of her pulling such stunts, and he knew that the danger Lien had subjected herself to were genuine.

\- So? - Lien smiled an unsure, broken smile. She touched Euan's back, as if building up the courage to hug him. It was as if their roles were swapped, with her now being a negotiator, hoping to get away with her unnecessarily confessed crime.

\- That was quiet irresponsible, - Euan informed. Lien pulled back.

\- It turned out alright, - she attempted an excuse with a small shrug. - McGonagall did not…

\- Your teachers are not who I am concerned about, Lien, - interrupted Euan, his voice raising just a little bit. - We are in a country at a state of active war, - he continued, now still and just loud enough to be heard. - Britain is no Norway.

\- Jeg vet, - cut Lien in an aggressive, blameful whisper. She had a deep breath, a bit guilty to perhaps having hurt Euan, and repeated in English, as if apologising. - I know this is no Norway.

Euan did not answer at once. He got more comfortable on the bed, folding his legs in front of him.

\- Come here, - he said somewhat imperatively, longing his arm towards Lien. She raised her large, pale green eyes at him, with only too familiar expression of mixed hesitation and hope. Euan put his hand across her shoulder, firmly grabbing, and pulled her into his lap. Lien's light brown hair got into his face, as he bent and leaned to her forehead. - I love you more than I can express, brat, - he said. - I don't want you to get hurt.

\- Stop calling me brat, - Lien mumbled.

\- Brat, - repeated Euan with a faint smile. - I am serious, - he said, as if it was not clear enough. - Cut the trouble for both of us, huh?

Lien nodded. The wall between them was crumbling, and what mattered now most of all was that she loved her father just as much as he loved her, and didn't want him to get hurt neither.

\- I hate them all, - Lien nodded at the closed door, meaning her mother, grandfather, granduncle, uncle, his wife, their children and the house elf, each one of them on their own and all of them collectively.

\- I understand, - Euan admitted. - It is still not alright to run away…

\- Leaving me here alone is not alright neither! - Lien abruptly straightened up, letting Euan's hand slide off her and drop on the bed. She couldn't stand it when he was lecturing her or merely starting to lecture her on coexistence with her mother or cousins.

\- That is enough with the attitude. - said Euan in a rather demanding manner, although in truth it was not easy for him to cut her off like that, and especially on a quite justified objection. - I am sorry, - he added.

\- Shut up, - Lien picked up another pillow, in a way replacing her father with it.

\- Sorry, - repeated Euan, not offended in a slightest. - I should have been with you, - he continued with all honesty. Having had missed out on an entirety of six months of Lien's life suddenly struck him, - Unnskyld.

\- Dad, - Lien carefully enveloped Euan, pressing her nose against his back and letting the pillow smash in between himself and herself. - You don't have to worry about me, - she said with a conviction bordering with naivety, as she was not feeling good at having made him to apologise thrice, despite not being sure what exactly he was apologising for. -At all. I'll be fine. I promise.

Instead of answering, Euan jumped off the bed, letting Lien hang from him. The pillow slid on the floor with a dull bump.

Lien tightened her grip, managing her own weight by the strength in her arms. She tried to slip away with no success, bursting in a loud and genuine laughter as her father skillfully pulled her off his back and threw her up to the ceiling, playing, just like he used to do when she was a child. For Euan it was rather pleasing to realise that he had perhaps become significantly stronger, as Lien had definitely become much heavier since the last time he had caught her free falling body.

In a second Lien twisted herself in the air and, instead of falling back into her father's hands, hold on to a crack in the ceiling; swang for couple of seconds regaining her balance and threw herself on the bed.

\- Well, now that you promised, - Euan shrugged, smiling with a certain bittersweet feeling. On one hand he did not want to argue with Lien any further. On the other hand, he was responsible to ensure her actually being fine. - Come have a dinner, - he offered, having a sit at the desk. Overflowing with scratch paper, sketches, pencils, pens, notes and all sorts of garbage now it was twice as messy as it was tidy and organised under his ownership.

\- I am not... - started Lien, nevertheless relocating closer to Euan and catching the spoon he threw at her.

\- Hush! - interrupted Euan in an odd no-nonsense, tired and supportive at the same time manner. - You haven't had a bite since morning, brat. Be reasonable.

\- I wish I had a stupid word for you, - informed Lien with no grudge, lifting the bowl of steaming lentil soup, got comfortable and started eating, developing the appetite as she went. Euan was watching her, slowly chewing on half a slice of a red pepper from the salad, still contemplating on how much Lien had grown up since Christmas.

Her face seemed a little thinner than before. Her arms were slightly larger, with her muscles playing under the tight layer of tan skin, pointing on a high possibility of her climbing and exercising more often than doing her homework.

\- Would you agree that there will be certain challenges in getting me to sign your Hogsmeade permit? - he asked. - Now that I have learned that…

Lien shrugged. She couldn't bother much about Hogsmeade.

\- I will, - Euan paused. He deemed it important to be as honest and open with his daughter as conceivably possible. - ask your teachers to be sure that you never pull this off again.

Lien nodded. She seemed rather engaged in fishing grains of lentil from her dinner than the supposed punishment inflicted upon her. In fact, as she came across witches and wizards in Knockturn Alley that scared her to the point she was ashamed to admit, she developed an appreciation for an external excuse not to sneak out to London.

Lien suddenly looked at Euan straight into the eyes, putting her spoon down and picking a slice of bread; preparing herself to ask a question spinning in her mind especially furiously in last few hours.

\- Is mum right? - she spit right out. - About Ted and… all the others?

\- What do you think? - dodged Euan.

\- Ted is great, - said Lien immediately, even somewhat defensively. - But… he didn't tell you that we met, because I had asked him, and… I appreciate it, and no wizard would have done that for me… - Lien paused for a second. Those were rather conflicting arguments.

Euan was able to see that she was observant enough to understand Ted was perhaps rather supposed to cooperate with the adult than herself. On the other hand, he had trusted her and done her a favor in choosing not to.

\- To be fair, I do not know many wizards. - Euan nodded, letting her carry on. - Mum doesn't know him, and she is just being...

\- Ted is your friend, - interrupted Euan before Lien would insult her mother. - How about all the other muggles?

\- They are good, too. - Lien swallowed a spoonful of boiled potatoes and carrots. - Smarter than anyone at Hogwarts, - she added with a conviction and leaned forward, some sort of passion sparkling in her pale eyes. - Imagine if Ted could use arithmancy charms to do his calculations for him. He could break, for example, a Vigenére cipher in an hour or less, instead of doing the mind-numbing work by hand for days! - Euan politely nodded, lacking the remotest understanding what Vigenére cipher meant. - And how much more complicated ciphers he would have been able to implement! We are, - she picked her bowl again, finishing the soup, - already developing sophisticated computing devices that are getting quite close to the power of charms. As much as I can understand, at least. Muggles are cool!

It was somewhat concerning that Lien had subconsciously included herself in the generic "we" while referring to muggles, but not particularly important. Her idea of muggle - wizard cooperation was appealing and dear to Euan, and he, in his turn, was subconsciously proud of himself as a parent.

\- You have been spending quite some time with Ted, haven't you? - he inquired with little doubt.

Lien nodded. She would have loved to bragg that in February alone she had made six trips, but didn't want to provoke Euan.

\- Is your mum wrong then? - he continued, also not wanting to argue.

\- Well, that Chemistry genius grandpa at your department is a lot worse than McGonagall, - Lien thoughtfully raised her bowl to the level of her mouth and drunk up the remaining liquid. - I guess she has a point, but… What do you think? - she fired back.

\- Well… I don't know. I don't believe there is anything special about being a wizard.

\- Or being human. Jingie there is just as good as that stupid… - Lien was meaning to name a housemate, the one that inspired her to run away from the house, than the fact of his very existence felt like a secret she should keep from Euan. - Rodolphus.

\- I wouldn't argue with that, - smiled Euan. - Jingie deserves just as much - if not more, respect as anyone else. The important thing might be to understand why does your mother believe there is something fundamentally different about your extraordinarily gifted of a surgeon cousin and the house elf?

Lien gave Euan a puzzled look. She often wondered what is wrong with her mother or the Death Eaters, but it had never occurred to her there might be a reason to hating muggles, associated with some perceived differences. She yawned and leaned backwards, lying on her bed, too tired and privileged enough not to dive into thinking more about it right now.

Euan, also tired and having a job next morning, stood up, snapping his fingers to turn the light off.

\- Here is a deal, child, - he offered instead of wishing her good night. Lien snorted, although she was hoping Euan would suggest a legitimate way for her to get out of the house and catch up with Ted and the rest of her father's students and colleagues, since she was confident in her inability to sneak out while he was around. - I can see if your mother will consider reevaluating her decisions if I see the effort.

\- I can clean up the room, - offered Lien, testing the possible enterprise against her father's standard of a good effort. - And go through a chapter for Herbology every day? - she added.

\- And help Jingie, - smiled Euan somewhat maliciously. - With dishes, or...

\- Deal! - cut Lien before Euan would put in more terms. - God natt.

\- Brat, - threw in Euan for one last time. - God natt.


	4. Limits

It was couple of nights after the full moon and around nineteen hours before the Hogwarts Express left the station that summer when Lien put a side the last bunch of spoons she had washed and climbed up on the sill, glancing over the available ingredients and contemplating what to do for the dinner. She wanted to cut up some pineapples and boil them with rice or spinach - as an experiment, as well as a demonstration of how little she cared about the nutritional preferences of her primarily carnivorous family.

Lien slid off to the floor, grabbed two large pineapples from the shelf and laid them on a cutting board. She applied the edge of the knife just below the leaves, to the thick, wood-like skin, slowly rotating the knife and trying to find the right angle for the cut. The smooth surface of the blade, reflecting bright afternoon sun, was beautiful.

Even though three of her fingers had cuts covered with thick stripes of a plaster that were now wet and hurting a bit, there was some comfort Lien found in rolling her fingers around the handle and pushing it through the strong, inflexible material. Inflicting more pressure on the cuts and feeling them more acutely. Lien had a twisted, odd appreciation for pain and violence. She valued an opportunity to discover her boundaries or push someone to their limits. She thought of it as of becoming stronger, as of conquering one more steep climb, one more mountain.

There was perhaps something concerning about that as well, as Lien would not hesitate to test the feeling for a knife held against the pale, gentle neck of one of her cousins, shall the right circumstances come into being, although not yet on the level of a finalised formal thought. It was perhaps fortunate that neither her parents were aware of those tendencies nor the circumstances came along.

Her father sat near the large window, in front of a complicated multidimensional construction of Latin words and ancient runes, floating and glowing with different colors. He appeared completely focused on the runes closer to him, thinking how to insert those into the construction without ruining it. Jingie - the house elf, sat on the opposite side, comfortably stretched on top of a large pillow. He was observing his master with a hint of pessimistic challenge, as he knew there was not much that could have been done for the game on his part.

\- Would you like to call this a draw, - offered Jingie in a soft, quiet voice, - dearest master Euan?

\- Hold on. - said Euan. His hand cut through the air in a gentle motion, and three of the red runes floating on his side regrouped, pushing off a six-syllable expression Jingie had on his. - How about now?

Jingie nodded in response. His old wrinkled face beamed with a sort of exhaustion and forgiveness - in his standards, what Euan had pulled off was rather desperate and childish.

\- Dad. - called Lien. She was standing in front of an open cupboard, confronted with a choice. - Shall I boil pasta? - She pulled the large box with a little image of the wizard that produced it, and continued, having spot a larger box with pictures of various vegetables. - We've got cauliflower, too.

\- I wouldn't mind either. - Euan shrugged. - Jingie?

\- Cauliflower, - said Jingie, after a pause. - Put in red mushrooms, too.

\- Please. - Lien said, rolling her eyes.

She despised Jingie more often than she did not. Euan had more or less forbade her from ordering him, making it significantly harder to like him. On an intellectual level Lien knew she would have agreed, - at least in a carefully orchestrated conversation, that the power she had over a much more experienced and in fact magically stronger being was arbitrary and unjustified. On the level of the present moment, she did not see Jingie beyond his social status.

\- Please, little master, - Jingie's voice was soft and peaceful, echoing with the memories of decades of far worse abuse he had to endure, and only mildly sarcastic. - Put in some red mushroom, too.

Jingie, on his part, had mixed feelings about Lien. Her father was perhaps the single person the elf had a genuine respect for, independent from the magic that tied them. Lien resembled him more than anyone else seemed to realise, but she lacked his compassion and had often hit or snapped at him, preventing the affection Jingie had for Euan to spread on her.

\- Sure. - said Lien, jumping up the sill again: the cauldron in which she was to boil the dinner was tall enough that she couldn't reach its top from the floor.

\- Lien!

\- What? - she queered innocently, pouring over all the cauliflowers.

She was now balancing on a narrow, slippery surface, constituting a great resemblance to a cartoon witch on a muggle postcard, squatting next to a cauldron of a steaming potion, the bright red shirt she had acquired during her unsanctioned trip earlier in summer reaching all the way to her knees. Her movements were exact, with a tangible air of strength and confidence.

\- Get down, - said Euan, without even looking at her.

Part of Lien wanted to be stubborn, for the sheer joy of being stubborn. The other part of Lien cherished the remaining less than nineteen hours she could spend with her father before she had to leave for Hogwarts. She jumped down - effortlessly, with a certain inelegant grace of practicality.

\- Fine, - she whispered post-factum, approaching the cutting board with the now carved pineapples. She cut a few slices and started mincing them into smaller pieces - fast, and careless for the details.

Jingie was critical of both Lien disrespecting what he considered an important component to descent food - the size and shape of pineapple cubes, and the overall enterprise of punishing the girl through entrusting her his job. On the other hand, Jingie did not lack an appreciation for the rare opportunity to play wizarding scrabble - a game he was exceptionally good at. So, his concerns remained unvoiced, and his peaceful, expressive face was now beaming with satisfaction and pleasant anticipation, as Euan was coming up with more entertaining strategies.

\- Dad. - called Lien after some time. - What if…

\- No, - interrupted Euan, perfectly aware of the question his daughter was going to ask. - This conversation is as over now, as it was over in the morning. Professor McGonagall agreed that it would be best to…

\- But, - Lien stubbed a slippery piece of pineapple and raised it above the cutting board. - I was in this madhouse the whole time!

\- We can agree that was a proportionate outcome to what your mother and I had to deal with, - contrasted Euan, in an intonation that made it clear that this assertion was not open to a debate either.

\- Ja, - nodded Lien, slightly embarrassed.

Despite her genuine determination not to cause her father any more trouble, she managed to get into a fight with Gregor Nott - a spoiled brat, begging for a good punch. His parents' status had made it possible for him to swing his wand around while a minor and outside Hogwarts, and he just wouldn't shut up about all the muggles he had messed with in summer. Now the idiot was visiting a cosmetic healer twice a week, hoping that the substantial bruises on his face would fade away before he had to show it to the public.

\- He jinxed me first, - said Lien, biting on the pineapple piece at the edge of the knife.

Euan was on her side - completely and unconditionally, except he also was the adult experienced enough to accept that this was a fight of a more political profile. Lien had just lost her temper, and there was no reason to let it slide away. Thus, just after being made aware of the happened, Euan found it to be his responsibility to annihilate the prior deal with Lien and to start a correspondence with her Head of the House.

\- I don't have to sneak out, - she started again. - You could come and...

\- Ted won't be going anywhere anytime soon, - cut Euan. Lien sniffed. She had started the conversation with no real hope, and could admit it was fair. - What you are proposing, however, does not sound impossible.

Lestrange nodded to Jingie. As if they were childhood friends, understanding each other without words. The elf snapped his fingers, decomposing the remaining pineapples into perfect geometric shapes and neatly relocating them into a bowl that manifested itself out of thin air.

\- That was nice of Jingie! - casually informed Euan. He waved his hand, squeezing another rune into the three dimensional table. - I am doomed, Jingie, - he observed in the same casual intonation.

If Lien was a little older, she might have noticed that her father was not talking about the game; but she was the age she was - excited about the loose promise of meeting her friend before Christmas. She stepped aside, letting Jingie snap his long, bone-thin fingers a few more times, pouring mushrooms into the cauldron and getting the fire to the state he prefered.

Lien washed her hands and approached Euan. Her initial intention was to drop on him. Hug him, covering his face with her hair. Then she thought that some respect was due to activities her father was engaged in, even if that was a long lost match with the house elf. She tied her hair into a bun and carefully sat on the arm of the sofa, crossing her feet in front of herself.

\- Cauliflowers and mushrooms, huh, - said Euan with an unserious judgement, as if conspiring. Lien smiled.

It has been brought to Euan's attention that his daughter did not even once include an ingredient derived from a sentient creature, which made the punishment Euan intended to be his daughter's to rather be such for the rest of the family. The Lestranges, so happened, among multitude of other things, did not share the ridiculous compassion or respect towards non-pureblood or non-human beings their youngest offspring had, and were quiet outraged about their new plant-based diet. Euan though was somehow able to navigate all the aggressive comments, allowing Lien to prepare food that aligned with her sentimental beliefs.

\- Dearest master Euan, - whispered Jingie, content with himself. - I can offered a draw again, but that is not fair anymore.

\- It is not indeed, - agreed Euan with an insincere devastation.

Lien watched Jingie crush her father with longer and longer phrases after each turn. She could not understand much, and did not seem to be bothered by that. She was even somewhat proud in her ignorance of ancient languages or runes, - a quality that set her apart from the most of British pureblood youth, and brought closer to its muggle counterpart.

She pulled a folded piece of parchment from her pocket and opened it, staring at it out of ideas. The documented was a neat mathematical challenge Euan had told her about last week. A challenge that started millenia ago, with a thought experiment of a racing hero and reptile.

Wise man named Zeno had proposed that it would be possible for a tortoise to outspeed Achilles if given a non-zero head start, as Achilles would be bound to cover the non-zero head start in a non-zero time, which would enable the tortoise to gain another, smaller yet necessarily non-zero head start; and the cycle would be there for infinite time and infinite distance. Since it was evident that in reality an average ancient Greek reptile had no chance of outspeeding an average ancient Greek hero, the problem persisted through centuries as one of Zeno's paradoxes.

\- Did you manage to sort it out? - asked Euan with a little teasing.

Lien did not reply at once. She thought the best if left alone, in silence and with the time to get a feel, to reach a conceptual understanding of what is happening in the particular problem and how would an input affect its course. She had a sharp mind, fast at spotting patterns and drawing generalisations; if born to muggle parents, she might have developed the brain essential to success at theoretical sciences muggles had been entertaining themselves with.

\- It's almost one, - said Lien, doodling on the paper. - I don't know how almost.

Euan turned to her, somewhat impressed. In next second his hand laid on Lien's shoulder, shaking her out of balance and pulling her on himself. It was not clear to either of them how Euan was able to maintain enough upper body strength to top that of Lien without consistent effort. Perhaps, it was the tempestuous flow of magic through his veins that reflected on his muscles and bones.

Jingie watched them with a mixture of judgement and forgiveness. He snapped his fingers again, reducing the holographic representation of the game into its box, and silently apparated from the kitchen, not at all disappointed in leaving his victory unregistered. Enjoying his existence along with one of his masters for so long did not appear right to him, even if the master was his beloved Euan Charles - the most unreasonable, kind and non-conforming wizard Jingie had the misfortune of serving to.

Lien felt a little embarrassed as well - she momentarily straightened up and squeezed herself in between Euan and the wall of the armchair. She leaned at his slim chest, thinking of the coming four months when she would not be able to see him. Euan gently put his arm on her shoulder. He too was painfully aware that she was growing up, distancing from him due to more than one reason.

He stretched his hand across her, reaching for the parchment Lien had covered in attempts to tame the arbitrarily long list of negative powers of two.

\- The current consensus is that it is exactly one, - he informed.

Some, inspired by the invention of calculus by Newton and Leibniz that had essentially equated infinity to small enough or large enough, believed that there was no paradox in there: certain infinite series of decreasing numbers, such as consecutive negative powers of two Lien was dealing with, according to then newly defined realm of calculus, were bound to sum up into a well-defined number. Less, like Euan and, as turned out, Lien, were of the opinion that the concept was more complicated than that, and required a deeper understanding of what infinity was, if anything conceivable at all.

\- Good, - praised Euan, summoning the parchment and scheming through it.

Lien, with no prior knowledge of converging or infinite sums, seemed to having had redefined some of the concepts majority of people would be introduced to only in an undergraduate calculus class to formalise her intuition.

\- It is never exactly one, - contradicted Lien confidently. - See, - she grabbed the paper from Euan's hand, and started writing. - No matter how long you keep on adding, you will always end up with something less than...

Euan was listening to her with attention and patience. It was pleasing to him that whenever there was a room for opinion his daughter was often deriving conclusions similar to his own.

\- Here is another way of looking at it, - he said. The quil Lien was holding escaped her grip and started writing as Euan explained. In an exceptional calligraphic handwriting. - If you think of a function F with two inputs - another function f and a rough description of input to f, you can start looking on the relation between F and input...

\- That's just plugging x into small f, - observed Lien, a bit frustrated on still not being told that she was right.

\- Hold on. - The quil was drawing arrows and symbols Lien was seeing for the first time. - Capital F is describing the behaviour of f, not calculating its actual value, so it can work with x as it approaches infinity…

\- How can something approach infinity? - interrupted Lien. - That's meaningless… Um, - she started over with less confidence, understanding more as the quill wrote more definitions and communicated more information. - An abstraction, - she read out loud, enjoying the fresh word.

Lien grabbed a pencil from the drawer and started writing again, her beautiful face serious and excited at the same time.

\- The F is called the limit of f, - continued Euan, having the quil write more around Lien's hand and the pencil, - and is defined by a function, the variable and...

\- What is this?!

The rude interruption came in a hoarse, aggressive voice, with a grump, rather well-fed old man.

\- Father, - registered Euan. The mild, yet genuine happiness of explaining mathematics momentarily fading into an exhaustion and an obvious unwillingness to have whatever conversation was coming at him.

Lien did not catch the moment Euan had her behind himself, further in the armchair, as if protecting her. She could feel her fists sealing into the walls of the armchair, the anger raising up in her at the mere sight of her grandfather.

Crius Lestrange was an old, purposeless man with a protruding watermelon stomach more than he was anything else. For as far as Lien could remember, he had appeared either raising his cane to hit her or shouting at her parents, claiming that they were raising a chimp instead of a witch. It was not as much the pain or the fear associated with him, as it was the anger - every time he had conversed with her father, Euan's usually calm, moderately cheerful face was inevitably changed to a dull expression of most genuine, profound sadness.

\- These clothes! - condemned Crius, pointing at Lien with his cane. Lien hissed, and stopped at that - by now her appearance was criticised more often than allowed her to care about it. - Showing off your legs as a prostitute!

Crius Lestrange was never seen - either by his son or granddaughter, conversing in a manner that could have been documented without an exclamation mark. He was loud and confrontational by default, and on frequent occasions when he was such by choice, he sounded rather desperate and hopeless.

He was an unfortunate man with a complicated fate - born to a couple of powerful and cruel wizards with no trace of magical capabilities of his own, his whole life Crius was treated as something in between a disabled animal and a doormat. He developed an almost religious appreciation of his uncles, aunts and siblings, all of whom were powerful and cruel wizards as well; he was reduced into an imitation of his impossible self that could have had produced magic, pretended to be arrogant, confident and righteous in ordering those inferior to him.

\- Father, - repeated Euan, being as calm as he still was able to. Crius' rapidly moving bright blue eyes switched from Lien to him. - What is it?

Euan was rather certain the reason his dear parent found his way to the kitchen was non-trivial. Crius nodded, confirming the assumption, and dropped on the sofa with a loud bump.

Lien could not help but to imagine her foot imprinted on the almost perfectly circular belly of her grandfather; there was a technique foreign name of which she had forgotten, but had been practicing every single day for over half a year, she would not mind to test on someone.

\- You are an ungrateful stinky bastard, - said Crius with a dogmatic conviction. - you know that?

When his own son started showing great magical potential, Crius had devoted himself to ensure Euan would be able to enter the pureblood elite. But Euan turned out a shameless blood traitor, dropping out from Hogwarts and pulling himself through higher muggle education, making him an ungrateful bastard for once and for all, no matter how often and how hard Euan tried to reconcile.

\- Don't call my…

\- Lien. - cut Euan before she would go further, calm as ever. - Be quiet.

Lien punched the armchair, hard enough to hurt herself. Getting older, she was gaining a better understanding of why Euan was not letting her to respond as she felt compelled. A yet foggy, immature, frustrating acception of him being right.

\- You little… Anyways, - Crius interrupted himself. With years he came to perceive his son just as much of an authority as his own siblings or parents - at a unique level of still demanding an unreasonable obedience from him as from a helpless child and at the same time fearing him, just as he feared any other wizard. - While you are wasting time here with whatever nonsense this is…

The parchment Lien had been writing on rolled itself and disappeared in the pocket of her shirt with a silent snap.

\- Reuben was telling that you have plenty of _actual_ work piled up.

Euan took a deep breath. The statement and its wording was taking him decades back, when he was a teenager and an adolescent, being scolded and educated on how to prioritise his life and what to be grateful for. It was demeaning and hard to sit through still being treated as the rebellious, stupid child, ungrateful to the generous adults.

\- Yes, - Euan exhaled. - I do perhaps have things I should take care of in the... office.

He was long past the stage when he tried to communicate to his father that he had found complete fulfillment in his academic work in the muggle world. He felt that by putting up with the minimum wage mundane job at their ancestral establishment, he was doing his father a favor, by giving him the peace of mind that his son had a respectable occupation along the one he was ashamed of, and that the favor was not appreciated enough.

\- You know that, and you are sitting here, - Crius' voice was raising, his eyes drilling both Euan and his daughter with disgust and condemnation, - and letting this girl…

\- I understand, - said Euan firmly. - I will look into it, - he promised with all the intention of doing so.

Lien looked at him - with a not fully rationalised respect of his patience, voluntary obedience and humbleness. She was also struck by a sudden wave of gratitude that neither she nor her father had inherited the physical traits common to the rest of her family.

Crius was a bolding short man with rounded shoulders, wrinkled angry face and lifeless, bored eyes. He smelled with a wasted life. Euan, on the other hand, was a complete opposite: his almond-shaped eyes of deep juniper color were burning with life and a deep passion for number of things. He was a well built, slim yet handsome man and looked nothing like one would expect of a person of his age. His long, straight black hair accurately framing his pale, smooth face.

\- You better...

\- Father, if you please, - Euan nodded at the door, unsure how much longer he could maintain his cool. - I'll join you at dinner.

Crius felt humiliated. In a routine, all too familiar way. Euan did not enjoy doing that to him. But he was a fallible human being, prone to the occasional weakness of abusing his power. He watched his father get on his feet, relying heavily on the cane, and walk out the room. There was something in his posture suggesting that he would bow.

Him coming in was a pointless, painful and inaccurate cut, as peeling off the layer of dried blood off a healing wound, bearing questionable consolation only to Crius himself.

\- I won't be getting out of Hogwarts before Christmas, - concluded Lien, with a tired, disappointed acceptance, rightfully anticipating Euan now willingly getting swamped with all sorts of paperwork, enough to keep him going well after Christmas.

\- Probably not, - confirmed Euan.

\- I wish things were different. - said Lien, hiding the box in the pocket of her shirt, with the parchment.

Euan pressed her harder to his chest and liened with his chin to her head. Inhaling the fresh, pleasant scent of her hair, and wondering how did he end up in his current position.

\- Jeg vett, - he said. - Unnskyld.

\- Stop, - asked Lien. - Stop apologising, damn it!

\- Stop swearing, - smiled Euan and pulled Lien even tighter. - Stop failing classes, too.

\- H! - inhaled Lien with a faint smile, agreeing to do her best.


	5. August, 1973

On the other end of the British Isles, in London, Sirius Black smashed the head of a mildly protesting marble knight in between his soft, gentle fingers and raised it above the chequerboard.

\- Tell me, Reg, - he said, grinning with the kind of innocent, meaningless malice his younger brother was not yet able to understand. - is it only you, - he turned the knight around, pretending that he was still thinking. - or everyone in Slytherin is such a dumb idiot? - the semi-sentient piece of the metamorphic rock landed on a pale-orange square, cornering the more valuable semi-sentient piece of his opponent.

\- Sirius! - cried Regulus, half offended on that remark about his House, half excited to forward his pawn one more step and transform into a queen, not mindful of the fact that he was just about to lose the game. - C2 B1! - he ordered.

\- Moron, - snorted Sirius. He was bored with the predictable game of his brother - nothing compared to the challenges he faced with Remus or even James. He was almost anxious for the next night, when he would see Potter again and his most recent victory would be tested in another match or two.

The warm image of the fireplace of the common room of Gryffindor Tower curtained his inner sight. He could see himself and James battling over positions of inanimate wooden shapes Remus inherited from his muggle grandfather. He could even hear Peter squeak around, when his father's deep, authoritarian and imposing voice cut through the soft, flavorus atmosphere of his vision.

\- Language, Sirius!

Sirius took a deep, long breath, careful as not to produce a single sound. Subtle cues as a sigh of frustration were never ignored by his parents, and he was not prepared to deal with the consequences. He reassuringly blinked at Regulus, anticipating how the wide smile on the little bastard's face would wipe off in a few seconds, and kicked the dark rook off the board, replacing it with his own.

\- Wait, - Regulus protested, not appreciating his new queen and the army peacefully accepting their defeat. - I still could...

Sirius smiled at him and stretched, yawning. Part of him felt somewhat conscious to offer Regulus choose another move when he still had the chance, but his patience was exhausted weeks ago - Sirius had come to befriend people none of his family would appreciate, and had grown apart from Regulus in the process. He was now more often annoyed with his brother than wanted to tease him into joining a mischief like he used to, which Regulus had falsely interpreted as a good sign.

Sirius stood up, running a hand throw his hair, heading to his room, before Reg would come up with another stupid idea - throwing in another chess game or chasing the snitch in the garden, for instance, and Orion - just by the virtue of his presence - would pressure him into agreeing. He threw a glance in the direction of his father, only to discover that more important problems were about to enter his hormone-driven, pubescent life.

Orion was seating in a sapphire blue armchair and did not appear interested in either one of his sons. Instead, his head was tilted towards the house elf, who was whispering something into his ear. Edges of the slit that was Kreacher's mouth were twitching in a smile, betraying his excitement and happiness. For a second Sirius struggled to make the connection between increased expression of engagement on his otherwise quiet unemotional father's face, earlier threats from his beloved mother to have Kreacher clean up his room and the literature Kreacher had in his hands at the very moment. Than the realisation hit him, and he was panicking, rolling over the table and breaking the chequerboard, throwing his lighter than the average body on Kreacher - scared more than would permit rational thinking.

The journals and posters Kreacher had put together and was now intending to present to his master, were knocked out his hand and scattered around the living room. It took Sirius another couple of seconds to understand that there was no point in fighting. For one thing, the damage has been done: his inappropriate possessions - including the female underwear catalogues targeted at his muggle peers in Idaho, were exposed. For another, the elf was bound not to fight back, which made fighting him a low affair.

\- Sirius, - called Orion, straightening up.

Sirius climbed up on his feet, leaving Kreacher to silently giggle, painfully aware of the stares in his direction. He felt stupid - both for being about to be scolded, and for letting it happen.

\- Come closer, - ordered Orion. Sirius did as he was told; very few in his position would have chosen otherwise. He raised his sight, looking around, unclear himself what to expect or to hope for.

Regulus managed to pick up a sheet of paper with an inanimate photograph that had landed next to him - it was a woman in a tight yet somewhat ethereal looking dress with long sleeves and a short hem. Her blond hair were tied into a tail, and she was looking left of the photograph, waving to someone. The word VOGUE was written across the beach she was sitting at in unnatural bright colors.

\- Dad, - he said, almost scared, standing up and approaching Orion. - She is not moving…

Sirius sniffed, letting go of the hope that Regulus would have the common sense to hide the picture of the beautiful Lauren Hutton for him.

\- She is hardly supposed to, Reg, - hypothesised Orion after a quick glance on the picture. - I believe this is some sort of muggle rubbish, - he concluded with little doubt, turning towards Sirius.

\- Is she dead? - asked Regulus quietly, taking a sit at the sapphire sofa.

\- I, - Sirius could feel the weight of Orion's glare, demanding a reasonable explanation to whatever Kreacher had told him. - Father…

There was a distinct point in time that separated him that could call his father dad, with all the implied trust and affection, from him that could not. It was perhaps sometime during his first Christmas break, when he was coming home to tell the multitude of stories about his muggleborn classmates. He was excited to enlighten his parents, tell them all the cool things he had learned about muggles, only to discover that his parents were not exactly open-minded. In fact, his parents thought of the overall phenomenon as of their heir being lost to a bad influence.

\- Well, - he started again, watching beautiful Lauren Hutton escape Reg's loose grip, get caught up in flames and float into the fireplace to burn out. - these are… uhm… Fashion journals. For… for school. I will be doing Muggle Studies this year, - he reminded defensively. - You said I could take Muggle Studies if I...

Orion was disappointed. Both on the unconvincing lie Sirius had came up with, and with him wasting his time on something as useless as Muggle Studies. There were no signs of him doing anywhere near an Outstanding in Astronomy at the time he was told he could take Muggle Studies if he got an Outstanding in Astronomy.

\- I know what I said, - interrupted Orion. Sharply, with a complete lack of an interest in hearing Sirius out. - Shall we try one more time. - He proposed, still maintaining his calmth. - What are these?

\- I just told you!

Sirius, encouraged by not being smashed into the wall for being in possession of muggle rubbish, was getting more entrepreneurial than was good for him. He longed his hand to grab the remaining literature that recollected itself on the table a second ago.

Something struck him, cutting through his hand. Quick, like lightning.

Regulus gave a short scream and leaned forward. He was about to help his elder brother up, when his sight met with that of Orion, and he leaned back.

Sirius fell off his feet, blinded by the pain for an instant, biting on his lower lip to stay quiet and discreet. He could not help but to be impressed, almost jealous by his father's strength and talent - he applied some sort of protection to the journals without even touching them or taking his wand out. It was during times like this when Sirius was regretful of not being the son his father would have wanted - of having lost the opportunity to ever learn from him.

\- At least we agree these are yours, - stated Orion, ignoring both Sirius handling himself rather well, and Regulus being a little too soft.

Sirius stood up. He hated being judged, afraid to raise his sight from the floor, while Regulus sat on the comfortable sofa, next to their parents, all grown up and worried for him; being the problematic, the immature child. He was tired of explaining - over and over - that his mudblood friends and his muggle rubbish were just as good as the pureblood idiots he had to spend time with before going to Hogwarts.

\- Yes. - he said instead.

\- Sirius, - Orion had a deep, loud sigh. - Where did you get these from?

\- Different places, - shrugged Sirius. - Listen…

Sirius looked up. His father was smiling - in a reserved, judgemental and disappointed manner, his eyebrow slightly raised with a familiar expectation of a correction of a mistake, and he knew better than not to meet the expectation.

\- I don't care what you do…

Sirius paused. He could assess that this was an improvement over the more confrontational imperative verb. Yet, Orion did not look pleased.

\- I don't care what happens to these, - he nodded at the journals that were already steaming, bound to be destroyed. - I don't care for dinner either. I am not hungry.

\- You'll be in your room than, - suggested Orion, still smiling in the same manner - dismissively, with a confidence that everything will be exactly the way he intends them to. - Until we leave for Kings Cross Station?

\- Yes! - shouted Sirius, determined to convince himself - and perhaps even his little brother, that the happened was not a punishment, but his own free choice.

On his way up the stairs, he picked a palm-sized skull from a piece of modern art and threw it at Kreacher, accurately on a protruding bone of his spine.

The next morning Regulus stood still in the midst of his peers and elder students who were running around the 9 and ¾ Platform in great excitement and creating much noise that Regulus thought to be exhausting. This was a condition he was finding himself in more and more often - standing still and letting life flow by, and he was not certain how much satisfied he was by that. His mother was mercilessly pulling over his shirt and his hair, causing him considerable discomfort and some pain. He glanced at Sirius with an obvious envy - the older bastard had his shirt out of his trousers, his necktie let loose, his hair uncombed, and looked as confident as it gets.

\- Mum, - he protested weakly.

Walburga smiled, as a farmer assessing their potatoes, in an uncompromising, not at all reassuring, mildly threatening and practical way. Regulus had an acute awareness of all his classmates seeing him and of the contrast to his elder brother. He was jealous of Sirius, but could not bring himself to step aside as his mother slid her wand just above his curls, straightening them down.

\- Beautiful. - said Walburga. She turned around with a clear intention of getting Sirius into shape as well - for the fourth time since morning. Part of Regulus hoped he would stand still as well, granting their highly irritable mother the satisfaction of altering his appearance as she saw fit; to feel better about himself, and to avoid a loud argument that would attract unnecessary attention.

Sirius grinned, holding no plans to cooperate. He caught Regulus' sight and winked at him. His smile - open and welcoming, made Regulus feel a little lighter, reminded of now the distant time when his elder brother would guide him through something thrilling, exciting and inevitably impermissible to some degree. Sirius put a hand over his shoulder and dragged him closer, positioning him in between himself and Walburga, as a shield. His other hand slid through Regulus' hair, messing them right back up.

\- You are welcome, - teased Sirius only loud enough for Regulus to hear him. Younger Black snorted, half grateful, half scared he would get punished instead of Sirius.

\- Sirius! - Walburga had her wand pointing at both of her sons, getting them rather nervous. - Come here at this very moment!

Sirius made a shy step towards his mother, still manipulating Regulus to protect himself from getting his shirt buttoned up and his hair brought into order. He spotted James Potter in the crowd, nodded an acknowledgement with a wide smile, and turned back to Walburga.

\- SIRIUS ORION BLACK!

It appeared to his mother that by stating his full name she was emphasising her authority. That, however, was not true; Sirius had no respect for her whatsoever, and, in result, did not feel slightest bit affected by anything she said, no matter how loud or intimidating she thought she was.

The tip of Walburga's wand produced a red dot that was rapidly blowing up. Sirius had a sigh - it was not the worst curse he could expect - a little bubble that would leave him breathless for a few seconds, as if he was slapped, and perhaps make him feel like he had just walked out a bath - groomed and prepared to be showcased. It was an interesting and a complicated spell, and in other circumstances Sirius would have loved to study it - there was at least one fellow Slytherin student he believed might benefit from getting shot with it.

In the current circumstances he chose to push Regulus down, getting him off the range. Next was a lot like dodging a bludger, except without a bat. Sirius abruptly walked to a side, letting the bubble swing by and hit the wall. It was of paramount importance to him at the moment that his parents don't get it their way.

\- You are an embarrassment to me! - hissed Walburga, approaching Sirius, her claw-like, tense hand longing to grab him.

Sirius stepped aside from his younger brother, made a sharp cutting motion with his wand at his suitcase, whispering the name of the levitation charm, and was able to escape another spell shot in his direction. He was high - spotting more and more familiar faces in the crowd and seeing James wave at him with enthusiasm.

\- Walburga. - Orion's hand, covered in a white glove, lied on his wife's wrist and directed it away from his son with a sense of ownership. - What is the point? He will mess himself up the moment he gets on the train.

\- Yes, sir! - confirmed Sirius, pleased with himself, his luggage floating right beside, still not following the potential of the situation to screw him over in long run.

Orion turned to him with a mild surprise. Deep inside he had to admit that there was something about his elder son he could not understand and still found utterly charming, even when he was trembling in an excitement to rejoin his half-breed friends.

\- Enough of that, Sirius. - he said. His voice iron-cut, cold and as detached as it was possible for a human being. Part of him, Orion realised, was rather getting ahead of his wife doing something more severe about the matter - to his taste, there was already more than proportional friction in response to pointless rebellion towards fastening buttons or getting haircuts.

Sirius shrugged. Determined not to get himself into trouble in the last minute, he nodded, submitting to his father for an instant, and reached again for his younger brother. His hand dropped on Regulus' shoulder; his wand drew another sharp cut, raising Regulus' suitcase as well.

Orion - if looked at attentively enough - looked pleased. Despite the differences between him and his younger brother becoming more evident with each passing day, Sirius still had it in him to care for Regulus - in an immature, useless, but genuine manner. His relationship with his own sibling was disappointingly dull, and has always been such.

\- Let's get you to your Snakehole, - Sirius smirked, messing up Regulus' hair more than the later was comfortable with, and for some reason drugging him towards his own friends. - Shall we?

For good ten seconds Regulus struggled with Sirius' quiet tight grip, further embarrassing both of their parents, until Sirius laughed it off and graciously let him free.

\- Regulus.

The mere sound of Orion's voice had both of his sons pinned to their location - safely and surely. Regulus pulled Sirius with him as he turned back to face their father, not noticing how Sirius' soft arms clenched into fists, mildly shaking.

\- Do me proud this time, - Orion smiled at Regulus in a reserved manner, - son.

\- Yeah, Reg. - Sirius patted Regulus at the back, his attention focused on the reaction of their father. - Now that you are the family's the only hope…

Orion was still smiling - the reservation and oppressed care giving hints of some crippled affection. Sirius was certain that what he just said was not ignored by him. He had listened, processed and did not confront him. Perhaps that split second Orion hesitated to slap his elder son, to tell him not to voice such opinions made the whole difference for him. That split second was all needed to understand that he was the failed project creators had given up and moved on. Perhaps not.

\- Sirius, - called Orion, as his son gave a wild, demonstrative twitch, dropping Regulus' hand off his shoulder and advancing towards his blood traitor friend. Or the half breed one. Or the fat one. Orion was not sure and did not particularly care.

Sirius did not react. He was observing his shoes stepping over the grass growing through the cracks in stones. Concentrated on getting his face back to the excitement that was gone: he couldn't bother much about the possibly pending chess game, or hearing about the stories of the wonderful vacation all of his roommates were going to throw at him.

\- When you hear me calling your name, - he suddenly felt his father's hand on his shoulder, right where Regulus' was a second ago, although far from being light enough to shrug off. - You respond. - informed Orion as a matter of fact, an old seasoned general refreshing the memory of a remarkably thick recruit. Sirius looked up, intimidated and scared. - Do we have an understanding? - Sirius nodded almost involuntarily. - I am glad.

Orion's hand - wide, covered in a white silk glove and a dark sleeve, slid down to Sirius' waist, in a protecting gesture, and he apparated to the other end of the platform, where it was a little more quiet. Sirius was confused and scared, further from what was familiar and what he has been craving the entire summer.

\- What your mother said is not true, Sirius, - said Orion, stepping aside, calm, without the usual air of superiority and with the same coldness and detachment nevertheless. - You are embarrassing us more often than is acceptable for someone of your age. I am not proud of things that you are doing, and I will see that you stop doing those things soon enough, but I am not ashamed of you.

\- Yet, - mumbled Sirius, feeling a sharp need to ruin the increasingly sentimental moment.

His wandering sight landed on the outstanding figure of the Lestrange girl, standing alone just a few yards away from a dull mob of Slytherins and their parents, with an old, strained backpack twice her size, her necktie unironed and tied around her ankle, in jeans shorts and sandals, sucking on a lollipop and looking intently on the Hogwarts express. The breeze played with her long, light hair and hem of the white shirt that was clearly large on her. She pulled over the strap, accelerated faster than Sirius would think was possible and, approaching the train, threw her backpack inside an open window - right at flight. She then climbed up the seemingly perfectly vertical, smooth, red colored iron wall and disappeared inside the compartment through the same window - all as one continuous, effortless motion, and none of her companions seemed to realise that she was gone.

Sirius felt jealous that no one cared what she did and, on a less conscious level, jealous of her speed, impressed and intimidated by her unique, unusual beauty.

Orion took the moment of destruction to decide what to do.

\- You are my son, - he concluded, pushing the sentimental moment for one more sentence. - Don't give me more reasons for such conversations.

There was an odd, uncomfortable feeling Sirius walked away with - he was childishly, unreasonably, minutely happy to believe that his father had an interest in him beyond getting him aligned to his image of a Black. That was a happiness muddenning the water of the real, familiar happiness of the anticipation to meet James, and Remus, and Peter, and, hell with her, Lily Evans.

If Sirius was to look up before merging with the stream of underage wizards, he might have seen a faint silhouette of a crow, spiraling down to the compartment Lien disappeared in. If Orion was to look up, he would recognise the infamous patronus his own Hound had fallen to numerous times, back when they were young and believed in duells.


	6. Pressured Promises

The wide, square shaped fingers of the large, hard-built wizard were illuminated by a lightbulb, floating a few inches above the table. His face was rough, with spots of what seemed to be healing sunburn, origins of which were rather unclear. He had a neat beard and a thick, purple scar, following the line of his mouth and cutting across it.

\- Rosalie is down, - he said, his voice exhausted and disappointed.

The atmosphere inside the fine institution of White Wyvern on Knockturn Alley was warm and numbing, ignoring of the information about Rosalie. Euan - the person for whom that information was meant, tightened his grip around the mug of now cold tea and raised it above the table, unable and unwilling to look at his collocutor.

\- Rosalie is down, - he echoed with no passion, as if restating the most neutral information - the color of his overcoat, the great taste of the tea, the weather that was finally clearing up. - How?

The wizard sitting across Euan had in front of himself a goblet full with steaming stout. He emptied it at once, and spit out another piece of information, somewhat connected to the rest of the conversation, with a bitter, crippled grimace.

\- She was... - he interrupted himself with a long, painful cough - a side effect from a curse he caught sometime in the recent past. - We haven't found the body yet.

\- Rosie Fenwick, - smiled Euan with sadness and reservation, reminded of the stunning Hufflepuff chaser with who Algernon Longbottom - the wizard currently sitting in front of him and swallowing concerning amounts of alcohol, then Hufflepuff beater Liam Woodbeed and he himself were profoundly and irrationally in love with as careless teenagers. - Wood must be... upset.

Lestrange sipped from the mug, consumed with its taste, communicating - in as subtle and gentle manner as he still could, that he was not getting sentimental or agreeing to the deal Algie was pushing on him.

\- I am worried about him, Lestrange, - said the wizard with a sigh, opening up a space on the table for the bubbling beef stew being served. Rosalie Fenwick was not his first friend the war claimed; she was the one he lost the count on, the one that made reading death announcements in morning newspaper a routine procedure. - He will be going around getting himself into trouble.

\- Wood would do that, - sighed Euan with a hollow acceptance, as if commemorating Liam - who was still well and alive to the best of their knowledge, - putting his mug aside and watching Algie eat. He lifted a spoonful of his stew, with amorphic piece of beef. The once pleasant smell of boiled muscle hit Euan, drifting his thoughts onto the amusement of the contrast between his friend consuming flesh of an animal and trying to revoke his compassion and empathy.

\- Wood would, - nodded Algie, with a lifeless smile. - Little one, - he turned the conversation, his smile widening. Euan smiled too, a bit intimidated and nostalgic. Algernon Longbottom was a large man - not of the half-giant calibre, but large enough to stand out in most of the crowds. In comparison to Euan in particular, he was perhaps three times as wide in chest and at least a few inches taller, a qualification that made Lestrange the little one, for once and for the following twenty-six years. - So what do you say? - Algie took another gulp of his drink. - Do I count on you?

\- Listen, mate, - pulled Euan, unenthusiastic about answering that particular question. - I appreciate the effort of engaging me...

\- Cut the bullshit, Lestrange! - roared Algernon, attracting some undesired attention from other customers of the White Wyvern.

Euan leaned back, closing his eyes for an instant. He produced his wand, drew a beautiful, fast wave around himself, creating a sound isolating shield - it was better to be careful than hopeful.

\- No, - he said in a firm intonation, dreading the hope for a compromise. - I would not count on me, if I were you, Algie. I am not getting Norwegians into this. Or Germans. Or anyone. I am of the firm belief that a contained battle is measurably preferable to a battle that spreads.

\- If Voldemort wins, you little fool, - interrupted Longbottom, pushing now empty bowl away from himself with a frustration and leaning back as well. - it won't be a battle spreading to your beloved Norway! It would be dementors, and hoards of Death Eaters, and...

\- Listen, - repeated Euan, emphasising the word, as if meaning that Algernon has been ignoring him so far. - First of all, there is no guarantee the Norwegians will side with the Order. Second of all, this won't be solved by enlisting more people into the army you think has the right cause.

Longbottom raised his hand, as if longing to punch Euan; his inability to contradict Euan was frustrating and counter-productive.

He could digest the first argument - what the Order needed, after all, was not so much the support from the officials, as it were the Norwegian wizards - any wizards, really, firing up with a desire to fight against the potential tirant. The second argument was the one Lestrange was throwing at him often and has been throwing for a while - the situation is complex, unforgiving of an existence of a singular correct answer. Algie knew his answer was action, and he believed there to be no room for a second guess - not now, when the world was collapsing, and they could wake up to a morning of a new configuration, destroying everything they once knew and held dear.

\- Moody got his face cut in half, - informed Longbottom, with the same soreness and dread in his voice, as he had when telling about Rosalie. Rosalie was gone, he reminded himself. Understanding the meaning of that sentence as from scratch, feeling it as if this was the first person that was tangibly, personally gone - for a singular, negligible fraction of a second.

\- Which one? - asked Euan, straightening up. Algie smirked, detecting a faint interest, hoping this random piece of information would be of an influence on him.

\- The son. - Algie gestured to the passing gloomy waitress to refill his glass. - The father died last month. Never regained consciousness.

\- I see, - said Euan, grabbing a slice of cheese from the plate in the middle of their table and relaxing. He was not at all moved by the new information. What happened was that Death Eaters or their allies were powerful - combined, as well as on their own, and have crippled a legendary Auror pair, and that wasn't enough to convince him that the only way forward was the way of violence and battle. - I still wouldn't count on me. I do not see the point in getting on the way of wizards that defeated Moody. Unless…

\- Unless - what?! - interrupted Longbottom with confrontation, waving his fist at Euan.

\- Unless there is a plan, - replied Euan in a calm, plain intonation. - What you have been suggesting so far is quite similar to what I hear from my wife.

\- Bloody coward! - he shouted, although he could admit that not acting upon Jane Crabbe's suggestions throughout fifteen years of marriage required Euan a descent bit of courage; and not doing so was still somewhat more than doing nothing.

\- I am not scared of them, mate, - said Euan with the same dispassionate, peaceful voice. Algie nodded, agreeing with a reservation: Lestrange feeling the need to state that out loud most probably meant that the assertion was not completely true. - I am scared for Lien.

Algernon Longbottom took a deep breath. He had hard time accepting his friend's marriage in the first place, and had harder time accepting that their unnatural immitation of a union was rewarded by a good, strong child. He was not proud to admit that, but he could not help the pathetic, idiotic rage about Euan being a father - and being such a terrible one in his opinion, nor he could drawn it in any amounts of mandrake beer. It was a jealousy poisoning his subconscious at all times – if not fogging his mind itself, claiming a considerable fraction of his personhood.

He thought that among him, Liam and Euan he would be the first one to become a parent. Liam would be the second, and Euan would not. But he did, while his beautiful, wonderful Enid lost the gift of bearing a child to a Cruciatus of an experienced Death Eater when she was just eighteen. It was unfair that Rosalie was gone – perhaps pregnant, that Liam would never recover from it, and that Jane Crabbe got to become a mother.

\- I saw them in the morning, - said Algie, a bit surprised at realising that he had forgotten about that until just now. - In King's Cross.

\- Uh-hm, - hummed Euan, recollecting that he was quite attached to his nephew and had most probably gone to King's Cross station to see him off.

\- She will do alright, - continued Algernon with a conviction. Little were his interactions with Lien, he had observed her develop the strength to stand up against what she did not respect, a pattern of growth that assured Algie she will do alright.

\- I know, - nodded Euan, his face clouded with a faint expression of sadness. - I am scared for her all the same.

\- That explains why she was there alone, - snorted Longbottom, not even attempting to hide his judgement. - In the crowd of your lot.

\- Mate, - Euan looked at him, his sight expressing an entanglement of all sorts of emotions. Him letting Lien be on her own was a constant conflict he did not need a reminder about.

\- What? - cut Algie, his malicious, teasing smile widening. - I saw your pretty little bird, too, - he said. Euan straightened up, worried. He did not intend that to become public knowledge. - And I bet you a Nimbus so did our mutual blond friend.

There was a silence - one long enough to create a tension.

\- Lien asked me not to come with her. - said Lestrange, as if apologising.

\- So what? - countered Algie. In his opinion, the girl was just a child, and not all her wishes were to be honoured. In fact, his own nephew was not particularly delighted about being squeezed goodbye to the point of turning blue in front of all his friends either, but that hasn't ever stopped Algie from coming to see him off.

\- Sometimes we push people away because we hope they will hold on to us tighter, - said Euan, his voice soft, oddly comforting and deep. He didn't remember where he had heard that. He did feel the pain of that being true.

\- See! - roared Algernon with a wide, open grin and punched Euan in the shoulder, almost throwing him off the chair. - Smart ass.

Lestrange looked at his friend, a person he once thought he had the most profound connection to; someone he would not hesitate to share anything with. And here he was, weighing all the things bothering him that he wanted to share, deciding which was not important enough to give up. He could tell him that his daughter would not ride a broomstick since last summer, and that he had no clue what that was conditioned by. Or he could tell him that he was questioning whether education at Hogwarts was the best choice for her.

\- She might like you. - he told instead, longing for the glass half-full with beer.

\- What do you mean - might? - questioned Longbottom with a demand, grabbing his glass back and finishing it with one gulp. - You don't drink, little one, remember?

Euan felt a sharp urge to do something out of spite, perhaps punch Algie, as if he meant it; and letting it go the same instant.

\- This student of mine, - he said, sniffing - vulnerable, about to tell something he had kept as a painful, itching secret. - Thompson, a very bright young man, a Cambridge graduate, works with Peruvian seismologists… You know, - he interrupted himself, realising that Algie did not care much about Peruvian seismologists or had a clear understanding of what a Cambridge graduate meant, - he spends time with Lien the way I cannot spend time with Lien… anymore. He races with her on expeditions, lets her sleep on him around a campfire, explains her his research or practices his eastern fighting art…

Euan stopped, breathing in. He was jealous, he realised - not that he did not notice that before, it was simply hearing it out loud, in words, that happened for the first time.

\- All I do is be worried, - he continued. - What if she gets herself to a trouble I can't get her...

\- Fight then, Lestrange. - interrupted Algernon, his voice loud, serious and imperative. - Fight for a world where your brat can wander about without you wetting your pants.

Euan noticed his thumb rise with a slight tremor, forming what could seem an unnatural angle with respect to his hand. His lips curved in a crippled smile - reminded of how talented his wife was at the fine art of twisting one's fingers to meet peculiar requirements of peculiar spells. He registered that it was a rather odd response to the call for action he was exposed to.

\- That, of course, is a perfectly valid proposal...

He stopped, astonished to a degree. For a distinct, bright moment it was as if he was hearing someone he despised, disjoint from his own self - to a coward, a confused idiot, with no principles and no sense of where he was headed. Someone gifted at fishing for excuses and convincing themselves that those made sense. Someone that undeniably reminded him of Crius Lestrange, the last man he'd want himself to resemble.

\- Well, - he interrupted himself before Algie would.

The decisiveness Euan had felt with that short, almost inaudible exhalation was the same that the last time had wiped over him in 1952, the instant he opened his first inanimate textbook, an introduction to Geology, as if there was nothing wrong with doing so. His stomach jolted then, of course, in anticipation of the catastrophic punishments that were to be executed upon him, - over and over. But he read through, he made notes in a stolen Indian ballpen, with detailed illustrations and... Euan had been missing his teenage self, who, perhaps, was a person he could have been proud of.

He finished his tea and looked up from the table, in front of himself. His sight caught Algernon's purple scar, that reflected the light of the lamp, giving a slight glow. Euan thought that purple scars or missing limbs or Rosie Fenwick's disfigured body were not worth a lost cause, no matter how noble.

He could, however, see that at the moment his reason - an endless spiral of thoughts and guesses and doubts, was breaking, crushed under the weight of a simple, irrational, animalistic replacement he was - to his genuine surprise - more than content with. For a focal piece to his existence was his profound unwillingness to ever have his daughter find herself in a position where fight or sacrifice were imperative to her wellbeing. He wanted to protect her, and he was out of better options. Or so he thought.

Euan inhaled with a feeling of doom. The fear rose in him, bitting on him, screaming inside his head that he was hitting the point of no return.

\- I would expect the Order to have problems with a Lestrange signing up, - he said, palpitating, holding on to his uncertainties for just a little bit longer.

\- It is not that. - said Algernon, shaking his head, disappointed at Euan having such a shallow idea of the Order. - It's cause you fled once.

Euan ran a hand through his hair. He was sure the Order was going to have problems with him for multiple reasons, doubts perhaps being the most prominent one of them. He, in fact, had no clue what he was doing not fleeing now, and thus did not blame others having no trust in him.

\- You don't have to sign up... publicly, so to speak. - continued Algie and pushed the large plate with cheese and vegetables towards Euan, offering him to have a bite while the implications of that thought sank in.

It took Euan a second to understand and another to accept that the thought made perfect sense. He was not afraid, he realised. There was even some confidence that the enterprise would bear fruits worth all the consequences of the inevitable failure. There was also just a bit of bitterness he needed to spit out.

\- Has it ever occured to your fine bright mind, Longbottom, that you might be asking too much?

\- Oh, yeah, it has, - confirmed Algie with no hard feelings. - Has it occurred to yours that you are being a giant pile of dragondung?

\- Well, - said Lestrange, his intonation firm and simple. - I suppose I am. - His brat would, indeed, be much more and much happier in a world that needed a fight to be built. He had a sigh, with the relief that came with making a choice after the continuous agony of not being able to. - I am in.

\- Don't mess with me! - warned Longbottom, serious for the better part of the exclamation.

\- I won't admit you being right, though, - continued Euan, as if nothing has been said, with a little maliciousness. - Righteousness is a relativistic concept, - he added with pleasure, as if sipping in the flow of the sentence. Lien would have found it appealing as well, he thought, missing her.

\- Whatever, mate, - shrugged off Algie, pushing his cup from the edge of the table, his sight somewhat impaired from all the beverages he had consumed during the late dinner. He was tired, and now when the tension was gone, all he wanted was to get a good, long sleep.

He grabbed Euan's mug that was refilled with now steaming hot mint tea.

\- To the end! - he shouted, smiling. That's what Hufflepuffs were being made fun of for in 1969, when cheering with cups of pumpkin juice before their Quidditch matches. Euan smiled, too, watching Algie spill the tea all over himself.

\- I'll apparate you home. - he said.


	7. Potions and Integers

Professor Slughorn had, according to what seemed an established custom, brought in a new set of floating chandeliers that now were casting unstable illumination. It would change from red to blue, maintaining warm shades of purple, and Slughorn was rather satisfied with it. He was, perhaps, more content about having had purchased something new and expensive, than the practical aspect of it, and perhaps had devoted more of his attention to the chandelier than to his class.

Lien had little to no care for the chandelier or the class. She sat in the most distant corner of the classroom, behind rows of Slytherin students. She was alone, observing few spots of faint light dance across the frames of pictures hanging on the wall right to her. There were four of them, all depicting former Professors of the subject. She had a vague recollection of being told that each had made a significant contribution to the field and thus earned their place on walls of classrooms of Potion classes across the British Isles.

Lien had a sigh and drugged the zipper of her backpack aside, opening it. There was no order into the stuffing of her textbooks and parchments - folded, pressed, repulsive and neglected, reflecting her frustration with and attitude towards Hogwarts. The school robes she had on were restraining, and the discomfort of that was sharp after months of freedom to wear modern muggle clothes.

\- As I was saying, my dear ladies and gentlemen, - she heard Professor Slughorn's voice, - your very first assignment for the year would be to brew a Shrinking Solution.

Horace Slughorn had on a beautiful, viridian suit with golden buttons, custom tailored in recent past, fitting him perfectly. He was shining with the kind of happiness that comes with a careless, luxurious life, and is taken for granted until something horrible happens.

"I bet you didn't spend the summer learning names of stupid plants," thought Lien with a clear resentment, not paying much of attention to what he said.

\- Sir, but the Quidditch tryouts are tomorrow afternoon!

"And I bet you don't have to fix your Potions grade," she thought enviously, looking on James Potter's wide back, who was the first to object to whatever Professor had suggested. "Of course you have your bloody tryouts," she continued, and that ended up being the thought on which she straightened up, developing an awareness to what was happening in the classroom. Everyone appeared to be shouting something in ultimate dissatisfaction.

Lestrange felt embarrassed for not recognizing half of the words her classmates were throwing on the Professor, accusing him of not having explaining those or prepared them for brewing such a complicated potion yet. She nervously looked around, hoping to see someone just as lost as herself.

\- Now, now, - said Slughorn peacefully, - the assignment is not due till the end of the month.

This calmed down people a little. James Potter sat down, stretching his hands across the chair of his neighbor, and that seemed to shut his housemates up.

\- We will break it to stages, - continued Professor, smiling with an expectation of support from the class, - shall we?

He turned to the blackboard and, discovering that his wand was left in the office, carefully took a piece of chalk with a napkin he produced from his pocket and started scribing, feeling somewhat silly. His hands were white, soft and smooth, with no scars or spots of any sort. He was moving heavily, evidently being uncomfortable with holding the chalk instead of controlling it with his wand.

\- Researching, revising and brewing, - he announced, and turned back to his students.

Lien quickly pulled a notebooks from her bag and copied it all down, feeling a wave of anxiety rise in her as she realised that the first deadline would be just in couple of days. Not that having more time was going to change awfully a lot.

\- And, - Slughorn put the chalk aside with an observable relief, - since some of your exam results were, candidly speaking, disastrous, - he made a pause, putting an emphasis on the statement he was about to make. Lien felt herself biting on her lower lip. Professor was referring to her and her alone. She lowered her sight to the ground, avoiding a possible contact. She suspected that students to brew a potion so terrible to receive an non negotiable zero were not a common occurrence. - I'd like you to pair up with a person, whose score, added to yours, wouldn't exceed 150 points. - finished the Professor with just a little bit of triumph.

It took a second for James Potter to make the calculation and conclude that he will not be able to pair up with Lily Evans, and to get sad. He dropped his arm from the chair, putting it around the shoulder of the boy sitting next to him.

\- I say let's make a kick-ass Shrinking thing, huh, Peter? - he said loud enough for everyone to hear, yet discreetly enough that their Professor was able to dismiss it with a forgiving smile.

Peter Pettigrew - the above mentioned Peter carrying the weight of James' rather muscular hand, giggled shyly, looking around in a not yet fully realized fear of competition. Most of the other students were scanning the room, too, calling each other's names and forming pairs. No one looked particularly interested in having James Potter as their lab partner, and Peter calmed down, relaxing in his friend's tight hug.

Lien Lestrange dropped her head on the desk, covering with the hoodie of the uniform. She hated herself for the relief she felt upon hearing that there is going to be a partner, placing all her hopes on whoever was going to be hers. She was a strong believer in one's responsibility for one's own fate and was certain that finding a classmate enthusiastic to work with her would prove to be challenging.

Perhaps her forehead made a sound loud enough to attract attention when it came to contact with the wooden surface of the desk, as Professor decided to address her all of a sudden.

\- Ms. Lestrange.

Lien straightened up, just in time to catch a folded piece of paper sent in her direction. It was a matter of unconscious reflex she had built up long time ago - the fraction of a second between her spotting the piece of garbage accelerating in her direction and her hand lifting to stop it was just enough. Sirius Black, the launcher of the missile that was intending to make a statement about her forever alone status, although impressed, simply shrugged, and jumped over a desk to get to not-so-bright blonde girl he was sure to brew a Shrinking Solution with.

\- It must be pleasing for you to learn, - said Professor Slughorn with an open smile, attracting Lien's attention back, - that you alone would qualify to work with Mr. Snape.

\- Yes, sir, - mumbled Lien apologetically, further crumpling the piece of paper.

She stood up, grabbing her bag and letting the pen and the notebook slide into it. Watching Professor Slughorn turn to Snape, Lien made a step in his direction, too. Her hand made a swift, fast move, her fingers releasing the crumpled paper ball, which in a moment landed on Black, straight on his nose. Lestrange shrugged, satisfied with herself.

\- As I am sure you all have heard, my dear ladies and gentlemen, - continued the Professor, lovingly putting his hand on Snape's shoulder, - Mr. Snape submitted a written exam so brilliant, I could not help but to grant him extra fifty points on top of the complete score of one hundred, - he finished with a very pleased look on his round face and moved on.

Sirius, instead of continuing the rather pointless confrontation with Lestrange, which, in its current form, he was going to lose anyway, contented himself with doing an impression of his teacher, getting the not-so-bright blonde girl giggling in the most admirable manner.

Lien, as she approached her lab partner, stopped and put down her name on the floating parchment next to the neatly written out "S. Snape". Her own handwriting was sharp, quick, hardly legible. She looked at it for a second and dropped her bag on the floor, unsure as to whether let herself sit down or not.

Severus was sitting alone on the front desk, as uninterested in his surroundings as he possibly could be. If he was frustrated about being paired up with the student least inclined to understanding the art of potion brewing, nothing on his face or posture showed that.

\- Uhm, - Lien attempted a greeting, but interrupted herself before starting. She fastened the strap of her bag and produced a coughing sound, awkwardly looking to a side.

\- Hi, - said Snape in a simple, somewhat reassuring manner. - Would you like to have a sit?

Lestrange nodded and sat down. She was uncomfortable, worried to disappoint her partner to the point he'd refuse to share credit with her and, at the same time, curious to get to know him better, for Severus Snape was an interesting character, who, although in possession of multiple traits that Lien was judgmental of, had appeared to her as a genuine person she could accept and connect with.

This was going to be their first interaction, but, with both of them spending considerable portion of their time in solitude – observing people and forming opinions about them, they seemed to having had a developed an unexpressed, silent relationship neither of them would have been able to articulate.

\- I am... - started Lien, her hands sliding inside her bag, dragging out the notebook and a pen, just so that she would have had done something. - I am sorry you are stuck with me.

She didn't hate herself any less for being paired up with the best Potions student in the school. The thought that he was probably going to do all the work by himself and achieve an Outstanding mark for both of them was not as comforting as she'd expect.

\- That's alright, - said Snape. His lips stretched up, rather imitating, than picturing a smile. - I don't mind.

In fact, he was excited – to the least possible extend, of course. Being paired up with the other Lestrange, instead of her cousin Rabastan he most often would end up working with, had all the potential to be a pleasant and refreshing experience. He thought of Lien with a particular respect and was curious to learn more about her as well.

\- Good, - smiled Lien, grateful.

Snape's thin, pale fingers pressed a blinding white piece of parchment to the surface of the desk and pushed it towards Lien. The sleeve of his robe slid to a side, following the motion of his wrist, letting her spot a few fresh bruises and a small scar she recognized as a cigarette burn.

Lien longed to him the same instant, but, remembering that she had no right to invade his space and acknowledge such a personal detail in the first place, held herself back. Severus tapped around the middle of the page, at a title.

\- Tell me if there are questions, - he said, his intonation now a little colder. He felt exposed for a second, defenseless and reminded of the unpleasant situation the bruises were a result of. He pulled the sleeve down rather enthusiastically.

Lien nodded, somewhat discouraged. She could relate to Snape, she thought, and did not mean to be aware of his problems without his intent. The best she could do now was focus on the paper in front of her. The title read as "Comparison of the most common methods to brew a Shrinking Solution in mass production", in dull red ink and an impeccable handwriting.

\- First attempts to create a potion that… - she started reading the introduction, but Snape stopped her – raising his finger and tapping at the middle of the page again, getting her attention to the first subtitle: "Directions, standard of 1971".

\- Ignore the first half.

It was reasonable to assume Lien was not going to understand or remember a single word from the introduction – a rather complicated piece discussing the circumstances at the time the Shrinking Solution was first theorized, and she was aware of it. Still, she had a short, quiet sigh; Snape suggesting she went straight to the simplest part – the recipe, was a little bit hurtful and demeaning.

The recipe, to her relief, contained a lot of numbers and calculations she could follow with ease. She could not help but to run them in her head as she read, and see that there were a couple of mistakes.

Growing up, she would often spend hours waiting for her father to finish a lecture or a presentation in a shared public space, together with other professors or students, some of whom would find it fun to explain her their research and let her read experts from their current papers. Ted Thompson would even trust her to proof-read his math, whenever it was of reasonable complexity, so, she ended up learning a fair share of algebra.

\- Is this number, - Lestrange slid her finger under an integer indicating the amount of the required carrot roots, - supposed to be the quotient of this two? - she asked, pointing on two other integers and raising her sight right on Snape, which had him a bit confused as to why that wasn't obvious. He nodded, confirming. - Than that's incorrect, - informed Lien with a confidence.

\- Incorrect. - echoed Snape rather surprised, perhaps more loud than he should have, attracting the unwanted attention of their classmates.

\- Go on, Lestrange, - cheered James Potter, as the noise in the class faded, - tell Snivellus how stupid he is!

Couple of students around him laughed, and Lien just now realized that Snape had been loud enough for everyone to get interested in what she had found incorrect. Someone – Lily Evans, perhaps, shouted "Potter!", with condemnation and anger.

\- I didn't mean the… - started Lien, just audible enough for Snape. - I meant the math.

\- Burn, Snivellus! - yapped Sirius from the back of the classroom, generating a short wave of laughter, as the one James did a moment ago.

\- There, there, - said Professor Slughorn, as a loose response to the situation, approaching Snape and Lien. - the what, ms. Lestrange?

Lien shrugged at Snape, as if apologizing. She regretted bringing this up, as bringing this up made her noticed and being noticed made her a more integral part of the class, and, by extension, of the school, shifting her usual perception of herself, as of a person that was in Hogwarts due to an accident, not birthright and magical potential. Lien thought of the wizarding world as the world of her mother she resented and – without a shred of conscious realization, longed to distance herself from it.

\- The math, Professor, - replied Snape before the silence stretched enough to become inappropriate, who was rather interested in what Lien might have had found, than had his feelings hurt. He had conjured the numbers on the train, distracted by the noise of his roommates exchanging summer stories, and thus was perfectly comfortable with the possibility that the math could have gone wrong.

\- Please, ms. Lestrange, - said Slughorn with a soft, encouraging smile, extracting a small fancy device from his pocket. - Explain.

\- Nine divides the first one, - said Lien, pointing on 6561, the supposed divisor. - This, - she pointed on the second number, - is not even divisible by three.

Severus nodded with an acceptance. He could see how the argument implied that the calculation was incorrect – such two numbers could not have an integer ratio, although he was not convinced it was right, as the nine digit number Lestrange had claimed to not be a multiple of three could have very well been one with a respectable probability.

\- Well, that would do it, - weighed in Sirius sarcastically from where he was flirting with his partner and putting together a loose outline of their paper - at the back of the room, having not even the slightest clue of how would that explanation mean a thing.

Ignoring him, Lien opened a random page in what was supposed to be her Potions binder since the first year and copied down both numbers, intending to calculate their ratio before Professor Slughorn would figure out how to use his small fancy device. It was a prototype of a model one of his former students was working on in Socialist Belarus, with a team of magical engineers, meant to act a lot like the most rudimentary muggle calculator, except without the convenience of a screen and buttons.

Lien held her left hand just above the paper she was writing on, her fingers folding and tapping as she multiplied and subtracted numbers in her head. Her lips were moving in silence as if she was casting a spell, while her pale green eyes were concentrated and had acquired a beautiful, almost excited glare Snape had never noticed before. Lien Lestrange had an appealing face and an appealing manner of exercising mathematics, he concluded, somewhat surprised.

\- Oh, my dear boy, - said Professor Slughorn, finally managing to operate the device, - you were off by quiet a bit!

Lien put her pen down, a bit disappointed that she was not faster. She thought she'd be faster and show off a bit, as this was exactly the first thing at Potions she had a chance of not screwing up.

\- Well done, ms. Lestrange, - said Professor Slughorn with a wider, warm smile, as he finished dictating Snape the right answer. He even pat her on the shoulder before walking away, certain there will be no more occurrences of her doing something worth praising in his classroom.

Snape made a sharp, swift wave with the tip of his wand, getting the number to correct itself on the paper, and propagate through.

\- How could you tell?! - he asked, confused and impressed. Lien turned towards him, waiting for a clarification that followed in a second. - How could you tell that three hundred sixty-nine million four hundred eighty-six thousand five hundred and thirty-eight was not divisible by three at once?

Lestrange blinked at him in awe couple of times, in her turn impressed as he correctly pronounced the lengthy number by memory.

\- The sum of the digits was not, - she replied, opening a new page and writing down a generic representation of an n-digit number: a string of 'a's, indexed from (n - 1) to 0, with an overhead bar. - This means a number – any number of length n, where n can be…

\- I know, - interrupted Severus, following her closely. Decoding her handwriting was a bit of an effort.

\- Well, - said Lien, not offended in the slightest, continuing to write, representing the number as a sum of its digits multiplied by an appropriate power of 10, in sigma notation. - Let me know if I loose you somewhere.

Next, she wrote 10 as (1 + 9), which made it possible to separate the sum into two parts – one with elements that had a coefficient of one: the sum of the digits of the original number, and one with elements that had a coefficient divisible by nine, thus had a coefficient divisible by three. Representing the second part as a three times a constant, Lien underlined the first term.

\- If that's divisible by three, so is the number, - she concluded. Deep inside, she was excited, assuming that this is how her father, his colleagues or students must feel when presenting their knowledge or findings. - Questions?

Snape had no trouble following through, despite the fact that she was using muggle notations and logic. Intrigued to find out how a pureblood witch came to be so familiar with the science of his ancestors, he also felt slightly intimidated.

\- I could help you with Potions, - he suggested instead of admitting that he was grateful for her explanation. - if you'd like.

\- I would, - answered Lien, putting her pen down, a little bit worried that might not be a good idea after all. - That would be great.

\- Sure, - smiled Snape. - I will be in the library after the dinner, around the section on Alchemy.


	8. Beginning of a friendship

Later that day, as large clouds covered the sun of the twilight, Hogwarts sank in darkness. Lien Lestrange, succumbing to her cousin Rabastan Lestrange and pretending inability to move, looked at the window with longing. She was hungry and regretful of having skipped the dinner. She closed her eyes and yawned, waiting for her cousin and his wicked friend to get it over with.

Narcissa Black, a mediocre witch excited about an opportunity to aid an acquaintance in his educational endeavor, stood right next to her. She took her wand what seemed like from nowhere, in a gracious, elegant move.

Lien could not help but to admire her and feel mildly jealous, as her father had a similar graceful air about him, whereas she was practical, quick and clumsy. Reinforcing her admiration, Narcissa slowly moved her wand closer to Lien, enjoying its smooth motion up the white, fresh fabric of Lien's shirt, right along the loose necktie.

Rabastan Lestrange, a coward unable to complete a simple task of giving Lien a lesson he believed she has asked for without someone's help, had her hands pressed to the dusty wall of the obscure corridor by her wrists, squeezing as hard as he could with his thin, weak arms. Like his elder brother, Rabastan was cruel and immature when it came to Lien in general and her unorthodox tendencies in particular.

\- Any more muggle talk from your gob, - he hissed angrily, leaning closer to her.

Observing Lien to look away, vainly trying to avoid Rabastan's proximity, Narcissa laughed with a sense of victory. A gruesome, grotesque grin cut her otherwise quite beautiful face, but she didn't seem to bother much about her appearance at the moment. This was only her second year in the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but it was the firmest of her intentions to prove that she had way less in common with Andromeda than her parents feared her to be, and the best way to do so she could see was to mess with the weird girl that happened to be born to a respectable family.

\- And you'll regret it, - Rabastan promised.

As he got close enough for his nose to touch Lien's cheek, she felt his uneven breath, sliding off her, and a strong desire to kick him, right in his slim, seemingly fragile chest. A realization of such a desire was sure to be fertile with consequences Lien was not intending to deal with. So, she stood still.

\- Shut up, Rabastan, - said she rather exhaustedly, lacking the envy one would expect her to demonstrate in a situation like this.

Lien moved her leg to a side a bit, bending the knee, getting herself to a more stable stance. Symbolic the power Rabastan thought he exercised over her through holding her hands was, it was not exactly pleasant. Younger Lestrange breathed in and abruptly pulled her right hand, easily liberating it from the pale, debilitant fingers. Her palm converged into a fist, striving to land on her beloved cousin's jaw, when Narcissa twisted her wand, getting it to a better position.

\- Behave, Lestrange, - she said sweetly, pushing Lien away from Rabastan and back to the wall.

Lien took a deep breath. She could, in theory, knock the wand out of Narcissa's hand prior to her casting a spell. There were two reasons doing so appeared to Lien as a bad idea. First, an action like that would be reported to her Head of the House and be classified as a violence disgracing a young witch, mildest of the penalties she could count on being a report to Euan. Second, even if she managed to push Rabastan away, the corridor they were in was a long one, providing her cousin and his friend with the time to strike back, potentially in a significantly more harmful way. Lien knew she would not be able to escape a charm shoot in her direction, and decided to comply further. Rabastan, unless accompanied by an elder student like Rodolphus or Lucius, usually only did the talking and was content by her giving a reluctant consent to do as they were asking.

She pulled her left hand just as easily, letting Rabastan to simply stand right in front of her, without exercising any more symbolic power. Narcissa, filled up with the happiness of unexpected success, raised the tip of her wand, sweeping the strand of Lien's hair, covering her ear, to open up her earrings. Small cluster of shimmering baneberry leaves, a gift to hold the memory of Janine Mtetwa, the daughter of Swazi immigrants Lien had met in Copenhagen when travelling with her father.

The youngest daughter of Black family giggled, covering the decorative piece of ceramics with her fingers.

\- Nice, - she assessed genuinely, as if touching it gave her some new information, sliding the wand back to Lien's throat.

Rabastan straightened up. His hands, just as Lien's back and arms, were in dust. He glared at Lien for a second, as if blaming her for the condition he was in, and took his wand from the pocket of his new, expensive robes. He pointed it on his hand, closed his eyes for a better concentration and whispered the spell. With a gentle hot air, hardly having touched his skin, the dust vanished. Following the same procedure with his other hand, Rabastan opened his eyes and looked over his pale, shining clean hands.

Lien glared back at him, still patiently waiting for Narcissa to let go off her earring and Rabastan to announce the end of his enterprise. However, unlike Lien, he was not in a hurry. He put the wand carefully back in his pocket and took a thick roll of fresh, snow white parchment. It was a pity to hand it over to Lien, who wouldn't appreciate its quality, but the parchment was not meant to stay blank.

\- I'd also like you to hand in my Astronomy homework, - Rabastan informed with a crooked smile.

Lien took the roll in a careless manner, not even bothering to look up at him. She stepped aside, hopping this was going to be the end of it, when Narcissa made the mistake of taking off the baneberry leaves. The response came in an instant, and Lien was squeezing Narcissa's wrist to make her release the wand even before she felt the determination herself.

Eleven inch long, oak wand with a phoenix core and a peculiar handle hit the stones on the ground. Watching it roll around, Narcissa screamed shortly more from surprise than pain. Lien smiled, enjoying her control over the situation, even if only for a fraction of a second. She grabbed her earring from Narcissa's open palm before Rabastan could catch up with the most recent events or react.

\- Good evening.

The familiar voice belonged to Gregory Weasley, a 7th year student and a prefect. He never really spoke angrily or loudly, but something about his calmness made him a respected authority, and Rabastan, as he summoned Narcissa's wand with his own, found himself slightly worried.

Accepting her weapon, Black screamed again, reinforcing her image of a victim. Lien did not seem to bother awfully a lot about that. Her mind was occupied with the missing screw, an essential component to wearing the earring.

\- The savage attacked me! - she heard Narcissa exclaiming. It took Narcissa a moment to wipe out the happy grimace off her face, and look in the direction of approaching footsteps with a helpless expression.

\- No pixie dust, - Lien mocked, although hardly audible. And the resemblance between her reaction to that of the Black moron to what they considered unworthy and did not understand, slipped her attention.

Gregory Weasley stopped as he reached the students he thought needed someone to interfere in the activity they were engaged in. His serious dark blue eyes looked at Lien with interest and empathy. It was in a way a funny scene, with her stuffing the parchment into the pocket of her robes, too small to contain it, and holding an earring in between her fingers.

\- Lien, - he said after a silence, gathering from the previous experience that she was not going to say anything in her defense unless asked to.

She straightened up, leaving the parchment stuck half-way through and quickly dropping the baneberry leaves into the safety of the pocket of her skirt.

\- These two… - Lien stopped, looking for a satisfying yet consequences free word. Unable to find it, and convinced that there was no way she was going to exclaim an accusation instead of a reasonable explanation like Narcissa she had no respect for did, lowered her sight. - I am sorry, Weasley.

Rabastan Lestrange breathed in with a relief. Beside being a respected authority, Gregory had an actual power to give him a detention and was pretty much the only prefect to be likely to believe Lien over him.

\- Yes, Weasley, - he agreed quickly, - you should see your housemate disciplined.

Gregory Weasley had a deep sigh. The year just started, but this was already the fourth of his housemates to be caught while violating a rule or two, the first three being the anticipated Potter, Black and Pettigrew.

\- Five points off Gryffindor, - he declared calmly.

Lien did not look anyhow affected, as she happened to be completely uninterested in the fate of the House Cup, as well as her role in its final destination. She was still tensed, expecting a detention or an imposing invitation for a lecture, but Gregory did not think she was to be punished. In fact, he believed that Lien did not start a fight without a reason. He was merely disappointed, as he was hoping she would trust him enough to tell what has happened.

\- I would imagine you have other things to do, - he stated, turning around and walking away.

Lien ran after him for two reasons. First, although she would derive certain pleasure from hanging around her cousin and his friend, possibly hurting them back, that would not have been a pleasure worth of consequences, and running under a prefect's protection was the best way to get away from them. Secondly, the watch hanging from Gregory Weasley's waistcoat indicated that the time was seven sixteen, past the time Severus Snape has offered to meet her in the library.

It took her another couple of minutes to get to the library and find Snape, sitting with Lily Evans. They appeared to be very much into whatever he was writing on a piece of parchment. Lien stopped in a few yards from them, catching her breath. She approached them hesitantly, not sure anymore whether this was a good idea. Severus did not mention he was going to have a company this evening, and becoming part of a bloody study group was not Lien's intention at all.

As Lestrange stood just behind Snape, waiting for him or his friend to notice her, Lily raised her beautiful green eyes on her.

\- Hey! - she greeted, - something up?

Lien simply nodded, confirming that she was standing there with a certain purpose and that something was up. Evans was always way too talkative and open for her taste. However, two years of Lien not reciprocating her efforts did not prove enough for Lily to give up on trying to engage her roommate.

Severus put the quill down and turned to Lien. That did require certain effort, as the space between himself and heavy oak table was not wide enough.

\- Evening, Lestrange.

In response, Lien nodded again, feeling increasingly less confident. She put her bag on the table, just next to the piled up textbooks and, before Severus could pull the chair next to him back, offering Lien a sit, she put her hand on the top rail of it. She squeezed it with pleasant anticipation of pressure in her arm and, pressing her other hand on the table, pulled herself up, sliding herself in between the table and the chair.

There were a few ways this could have gone wrong. But, considering Lien's vast experience of making it through far more challenging obstacles in mountains, fields and caves, the possibility of things going wrong was rather negligible, and in an instant Lien found herself sitting in the chair, facing Severus Snape, who blinked a few times in an awe.

Lily was looking at Lien with a little judgement and certainly no approval. She appeared rather confused, despite having had witnessed Lien climb up and down the furniture in far more eccentric manner.

\- I will be helping Lestrange with Potions, - Snape told in a patronising intonation, watching for Lily's reaction.

Perhaps, he did not realize it himself, but he was showing off in front of het. In fact, he deliberately chose the time such that Lily would meet Lien and get the chance to learn about his generous enterprise.

Understanding that made Lien feel sad and disappointed. Used, perhaps. For the first time she was under the impression that a connection, resembling and consequently growing into friendship, was going to be established for her in Hogwarts, and now she was disillusioned again.

\- That's great! - exclaimed Lily, feeling a responsibility she for some reason assumed to be hers roll off her shoulders. - I'll get going than.

Evans stood up, gathering her belongings in a neat pile with a simple swing of her wand. Lien, as she took her notebook with the quill and the ink jar from the bag, accidentally ripping off the zipper, smiled apologetically, but didn't seem to bother much. Severus smirked quietly, debating whether he should offer his help with fixing the damage or not.

\- See you later in the room, Lien! - said Lily, throwing her pastel purple, muggle-made bag over her shoulder. - Good night, Sev, - she turned to Snape and, grabbing one of the chocolate chip cookies her mother had baked just before she left for Hogwarts, walked away.

\- Night,- replied Severus.

He took a cookie himself, grateful for Lily's decision to share part of her glucose supplies with him, and looked critically on Lien's notebook. The item was ambitiously old, with multiple pages ripped off, spots of ink and water all over it. On the open page she had a few bullet points, a list of the ingredients for the Shrinking Solution from the textbook, grouped without any apparent logic.

\- We are going to submit whatever you come up with, - said Severus, calmly, as stating a matter of fact, - I disposed of the paper I showed you earlier.

Lien looked at him, disappointed. It sounded fair and even reasonable. Snape, even if he was to fail one assignment because of her, could easily make up for it in the coming ones. She, on the other hand, almost physically felt how the only chance she could count on of fixing her life slipped through her fingers and an anxiety wash her over. The situation was not as dramatic and hopeless as Lien was picturing, yet, she was severely concerned for her academic future.

\- When did you write it? - she asked in an attempt to push the conversation further.

\- This August, - replied Severus, carefully folding the piece of parchment he was writing on for Lily.

\- Where did you learn... - he bit off the cookie, looking for the right word, - mathematics?

As Hogwarts students were only taught some spells at Potions or Astronomy to perform necessary calculations, similar to the way muggle children could have been taught to use a calculator without learning much of elementary Algebra, in the setting of a magical library the word sounded rather foreign and out of the context.

\- My father taught me, - replied Lien, a faint smile touching her lips.

\- Your father taught you mathematics, - echoed Severus in disbelief, perhaps more loud than he should have.

\- He is a Geology professor at a muggle university, - continued Lien, matter of fact.

\- Your father, - repeated Severus again, this time whispering, in a greater confusion and disbelief. Lien nodded, smiling. - I thought he was pureblood. A Lestrange, you know.

\- That is not at all mutually exclusive with studying rocks, - replied Lien, restating an argument she heard her father say numerous times.

Severus was confused, his worldview challenged. Shattered, even, as he found himself lacking the capacity to form a useful question.

Lien's hands involuntarily longed to her ear that was his missing her Swazi decoration, trampling it nervously. She caught a glimpse of the clock on the opposite wall, floating right above a group of Gryffindor students, indicating that the time was already ten minutes to 8, knocking her back into the anxiety about Potions.

\- Will you at least help me write the paper? - she asked quietly, looking back on her useless scribble.

\- I guess, - said Snape, flavoring the fact that she was counting on him with no feeling of entitlement.

He longed for the blank parchment designated for Rabastan's Astronomy homework, stuffed forcefully into Lien's pocket. Exactly the instant Severus was able to touch the parchment and lift it, Lien had her wide, veiny palm on his wrist, accurately covering the bruises. She responded on a subconscious level, and Severus realized two things. First, the rather obvious one, their relationship was quite far from the stage where he would have had the freedom to operate with the items in her possession without asking first. Second, he had involuntarily closed his eyes, as the awakened soft pain in his hand was unexpected and revoked recent memories.

Lien took her hand off first. She did not think she owed him an apology, but she did feel sorry for hurting him. She could not help but to glare at the clear handprint on Snape's arm. Following her sight, Severus took his hand off the parchment and violently pulled down the sleeve, trying to hide the bruises.

\- What happened? - asked Lien, both curious and empathetic.

\- My father happened, - answered Severus with a quiet sigh, looking straight on his notebook, preventing Lien from catching his sight.

The sharp contrast between Lestrange lightening up upon mentioning her father and the almost physical dread he felt upon having to mention his, painfully cut through his mind.

\- Just as some wizards despise muggles, some muggles despise wizards, - he spit out quickly, and continued. - Even if the wizard is their son.

Lien was slightly puzzled with this bit of information about the world. She knew many muggles - and knew them well, but it has only now come to her attention that none were aware of her being a witch.

\- I shouldn't have asked, - she said, although she didn't mean it.

The truth was Lestrange was about to discover a new person, and with him an entire point of view, conditioned not only by the fact of his unquestionable uniqueness as a human being, but also by the fact that he was providing her with an insight to a part of the world she until this moment did not even realized existed. A momentary excitement waved through her, similar to what she has experienced in her journeys alone or with muggles, only to be immediately shut.

\- That's alright.

Severus felt grateful both for an opportunity to say out loud something that has been bothering him for as long as he could remember and for Lien not pushing it any further. Faintly sensing some new established connection between himself and her, Snape smirked.

He grabbed the parchment and put it in front of Lien, covering her notebook. He wanted to get the thread away from his father and whatever he had to endure during the summer. Lestrange smiled shortly, forgiving him the intrusion into her personal space. This and all the following ones.

\- The second book from the top, the very first chapter, - Snape directed calmly.

Lien slowly took the book without deconstructing the pile. It was an old one, with soft, dirty fabric that once covered the book, now hanging from the edges.

After opening it on the right page, long, pale fingers of her classmate landed on the last paragraph, tapping on the subtitle that read as the Drink of Belittlement.

\- This is the easiest recipe doing the job I could find. I'd start by reading through this, - he said, grabbing another cookie. - You don't want any? - he asked, sliding the metallic box to Lien. She shook her head after a moment's hesitation and turned to the book.

More than two hours were spent in frustrating attempts to comprehend unknown terms and concepts of Potions. Lestrange had to ask Severus to explain her something once every few minutes, which oddly did not feel embarrassing. He was very patient with her and had a talent of articulating his thoughts in a simple, yet complete way.

As the librarian shot a yellow sparkling charm through the corridors, indicating the proximity of the curfew time and the closing of her territory for the night, Snape shut his Arithmancy textbook. Giving it a second's thought, he also made the choice of closing the book lying open in front of Lien.

She raised her head, sleepily rubbing her eyes. The large parchment was half covered in her tiny, hardly legible handwriting, and was more or less ready to be submitted in a day - fact that wrapped her up in pleasant anticipation of a good night's sleep with resting conscience. Severus skimmed through the paper as he was collecting his belongings from the table, nodding to himself.

\- Well done, - he admitted.

Lien nodded, carelessly folded the paper and dropped it into her bag lying on the floor. Severus, with a neat swing of his wand putting all his belongings into his bag, just as old and worn out as that of Lien.

\- Thanks, - she said awkwardly.

Lien wanted to say that she'd like to return the favor by means of possibly helping Severus with the Astronomy, a subject that came to her as easily and naturally as Potions came to him, but hold back for reasons unclear to her.

\- You are most certainly welcome, - replied Severus with a forgiving smirk. - See you in the morning, Lestrange.


	9. On struggles of starting a habit

Euan Lestrange passed the corner shop, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the window that separated himself from an appetizing display of fresh foods. He let out a smile, as if testing whether he was capable of twitching his face in that manner. His almond shaped juniper green eyes reduced to slits, hardly revealing the concentration and anxiety expressed in them.

Euan's figure - thin and pale, stuck out the monochromatic street stream. He had on a simple shirt, buttoned up up to his chin, light colored cotton it was made of now dotted with spots from the recent rain. His straight hair laid on his shoulders, in two even, perfectly combed strands. A satchel hang across his chest, with his right hand inside the front most compartment, running through the daggers he had placed there last morning, wondering, if he'd ever master the stomach to put them into use.

As Euan was about to cross the street, his left hand slid into the pocket of his trousers. Thick, out of season warm fabric was tense on his leg. He found the tip of his wand in the magical depths of apparently useless pocket and exhaled, his mind swirling with fear more than with anything else.

He approached another corner shop, this one slightly more shady looking than the first. Instead of fruits and vegetables, it was showcasing cans and packaged baked goods. The windows had been gathering dust for some time, and, although the exterior was washed down by rain, it too had the residual glue and paper fragments from advertisements once posted there.

Euan pushed the door and stepped in, greeted by the metallic ring of the charms hanging from the ceiling. He grabbed a small cardboard box from the shelf on his right without looking and approached the counter, giving the shopowner half a nod in acknowledgement.

The person behind the counter was a large woman, her head shaved and her lips colored with bold purple. She did not bother to respond to her customer. Her name was Gianna DeLuca, and Euan was going to learn that in a few months.

He glanced through the items behind Gianna - imported chocolate, boxes of nutrition bars, canned soda and cigarettes. He stopped on Marlboros, in two separate rows for Golden and Red. The choice was overwhelming him, as he had no idea what to base it on.

\- That all? - Gianna tapped the counter near the box Lesteange had picked up on his way in. It turned out to be an assortment of dried plums and apricots.

\- Hi, - Euan said instead, with an apologetic smile. He was feeling uneasy. - I was wondering… Could I get a…

Sharp, metallic ring of the charms at the entrance interrupted him before he would make a perfectly random purchase, as two younger men walked in.

\- … than the old goat had to shut up. - the taller one was narrating with a genuine, almost childish excitement. His voice familiar and missed quite a bit. - He and his damn mold evidence. That's not even a real thing!

\- Hmm, - short, unclear and largely meaningless exhalation was all the second man gave for an answer.

\- Such a bummer. Eiji-i, - pleaded the first one, as both of them stopped just behind Euan. - Oh! Sir Lestrange!

\- Thompson, - replied Euan, turning towards the pair and away from Gianna, who did not seem to care one single bit. - I didn't know you were in London.

\- Yeah, - said Ted vaguely, feeling a sudden urge to scratch his neck. His gestures - broad and clumsy, were in sharp, outstanding contrast to the otherwise intimidating presence he constituted, even in a simple jeans and t-shirt. - I arrived on the weekend. Jetlagged and all, you know, professor?

\- Sure, - half-shrugged, half-nodded Euan. - The brat wouldn't stop asking when you could meet, - he continued, the malicious yet kind hearted smile appearing on his lips, a contradiction to his clear, still anxious and fearful eyes.

\- Oh yeah? - Ted smirked back. - I am sorry, professor. I would write or call, but you won't give me your address…

His silent companion - the man referred to as Eiji, made an impatient and rude step towards the counter, cutting the line.

\- No, I won't, - confirmed Lestrange easily, following Eiji with subtle curiosity. - She let slip out that you have had the pleasure of reconnecting in the spring.

\- Red Marlboro, - aggressively ordered Eiji before Ted would attempt an answer to the implied accusation. - Longs, - he specified, his voice pleasantly hoarse and his accent remarkably thick - almost incomprehensible in combination.

The woman behind the counter raised an eyebrow at his attitude, but did not say anything. She put her small, puffy hand over the bills Eiji gave her, dragging them closer, and threw him the pack in exchange. Eiji caught it and head straight towards the exit, touching the box of matches in the pocket of his shirt through the fabric as he walked.

\- What kind of accent is that? - inquired Euan, changing the subject and lifting the pressure off Ted. Letting him know he was aware of Lien's mischief would be enough to ensure he won't cover for her like that again.

Thompson sighed, relieved - he was conflicted about his semi-willing cooperation with and encouragement of the underage wizard running off her supposedly safe school.

\- Japanese. Don't mind him, professor, he's always like that when he hasn't smoked.

\- He forgot the change, - informed Gianna, the rising intonation of her melodic voice hinting on her Italian origins.

\- That lad has some serious problems, - Ted rolled his eyes, collecting the coins as Gianna tossed them on the counter. She turned to Euan.

\- You getting this or no? - she asked, tapping at the set of dried fruits.

\- Yes, - Lestrange produced his wallet, conjuring the bills inside it while he spoke. - Could I also get one long red Marlboro?

Gianna loudly snorted at how Euan mispronounced the name of the popular brand the exact way the cranky man did before him.

\- Start with these, big boy, - she advised, longing Euan a pack of Goldens. Lestrange took it with no offense.

\- I didn't know you were smoking, sir Lestrange, - said Ted, surprised.

\- I wasn't.

Euan was going to need the excuse to step out of his life for the ten minutes that could be plausibly required to consume a standard cigarette a few times in a day. A habit he wouldn't share with anyone he interacted with or was going to, and a habit that wouldn't arouse a suspicion to be suddenly picked up by a 39 year old man with serious problems warranting such a habit by all the relevant accounts.

\- I am about to start, Ted.

* * *

In less than a week, on the third Thursday of the school year, Sirius rolled over in his bed, forcing himself towards the window for the bright sunlight to shine into his face and wake him up. It was a few hours before he had to get up, but his will power was towering, sustained by a sports journal a muggleborn friend from Ravenclaw had trafficked for him. He yawned, kicking the warm blanket off, and dragged himself up.

Yawning again, Sirius scratched his ear a few times in a canine hitting motion and glanced the room, scanning through. James was sleeping amidst the impossible mess of his scattered belongings. He was shirtless, spread across his bed as if purposely trying to cover as much space as possible. Sirius grinned, planning a good morning for his best friend. He whispered the spell, swinging his wand in an abrupt, wave-like motion, and watched ink circles manifest around Potter's eyes, simulating his signature glasses.

\- Perfect, - smiled Black and let out another, longer yawn, noting his willpower decrease with the sense of accomplishment.

Still, determined to follow in the footsteps of the heavily commercialised muscular men he had been reading about the night before, Black dropped his wand back on the nightstand and went towards the exit, not changing out of his pajamas, which perhaps were the most exercise appropriate clothes he owned anyway.

His hand had just laid on the door handle when it slid back, confronting Sirius with one of his other roommates.

\- Hey, - he half-mumbled, half-yawned, sleepily trembling his eye.

\- Hi, - whispered Remus, struggling to fasten last couple of buttons of the shirt he had on as his hands suddenly started shaking. The few inches of his chest that were exposed were covered in an impressive net of old, white scars, healing pink ones and bright red wounds.

\- What Cerberuses were you fighting? - inquired Sirius, as if it was a joke. Perhaps, he was rather inexperienced and unfocused to phantom the gravity of the situation consequences of which he had just witnessed.

\- Real big ones, - Remus shrugged, running a hand through his wet hair. He had composed himself at once, hopeful that later Sirius won't pay much attention to suspicions he might be acquiring now, at 6 am. - You up early, - he observed.

\- You too, - Sirius fired back. - I want to go for a jog before the classes start.

\- That's a strong word coming out of ya, - teased Remus, stepping into the room. - When was the last time you went for a walk?

\- That's the kind of support I need! - Sirius patted his friend's slim shoulder, finishing up the sentence with a quiet, bark like sound. They exchanged quick smiles, clearly communicating that there were no hard feelings.

\- Break a leg, mate. - wished Lupin. He had now approached his corner of the room and had laid down, about to catch up on sleep.

\- Whatever, Remus, - answered Sirius on his way out and carefully closed the door behind him, as to not wake anyone else up.

The corridor and the staircase leading down to the Gryffindor common room were well illuminated. Sirius squinted, sniffing the unusual scent with distrust. It was a sterile smell of freshness, somehow overpowering the usual of sweat and humidity. Concluding that it was likely an outcome of Remus taking a shower, Sirius inhaled in again, catching a subtle, annoyingly familiar smell of soil and fresh fruits that was getting stronger with him approaching the entrance.

The sunlight was bright enough only near the window when Sirius entered, so, he did not immediately make sense of where the smell was coming from and what was happening. However, as his sight gradually adjusted, he worked out a human silhouette standing across the room.

The position it had assumed was rather odd and, from what Sirius could tell, painful. The left leg was bent, holding all of the weight as the right one was extended backwards, perpendicular to the body. The foot was twisted inwards, as if frozen in a snapshot. There were bulky bandages on both calves which Sirius recognized as training weights of sorts. The right hand, with fingers slightly bent, was held up as well, parallel to the leg. The left was resting on the side, just above the hip.

The tension and the implied threat of physical power that person radiated were tangible even from where Sirius was standing, a sound proof of the high command they exercised over their body. What captured the pubescent teenager's attention, however, were the more feminine features.

She had on a tight, sleeveless shirt, well outlining the curves of her forming breasts. Barefoot, in shorts and with her hair tied in a loose French braid, she was her, wild and exceptional. It was, of course, the Lestrange girl - an outstanding sight for Sirius, who despite all his unorthodox inclinations, still was raised in a conservative, wholesome in certain sense household.

She slowly folded in her leg, somewhat struggling to hold still otherwise. Her breath intensified and her hands opened, extending in opposite directions, as if longing for something to hold onto. She swang, leaning to her right, appearing as if she was going to fall on her face. Instead she landed on her feet, light and easy, without producing a single sound. Her hands, loose and relaxed for an instant, firmly locked in front of her, the right fist pressed against the inner forearm of the left. Her face twitched, as if from a momentary pulse of pain.

Sirius had made a few steps in her direction, drawn by the unique, almost intimidating appeal she undeniably had, and could now observe finer details. Her legs and arms were covered in minor scratches and bruises, the kind of injuries one would expect from a careless hike. Large veins on her hands were explicit, highlighting the pressure she was putting on herself. Her chest was moving fast, in tune with breathing, and Sirius could not master the willpower to look away.

Sensing foreign presence, Lien turned to where he was standing, and, seeing him, straightened up. She crossed her arms across herself, uncomfortable and self-conscious under the stare. Her shoulders curled in, her stature decomposing. Sirius looked at her with a little too much interest, and Lien was not quite used to that.

\- Hva stirrer du på, Svarten? - she heard her own voice before she could regain herself in space and time and remember that she was in Great Britain, where average teenager wouldn't speak her mother tongue.

\- What?! - screamed Sirius in a genuine panic, raising his arms in defense and stepping back. For all he knew, the in fact harmless, although confrontational question his strange classmate had posed could have been a really dark spell.

Lien smiled an open, although teasing smile as he tripped over the sofa and dropped on it. She stretched, getting closer to him to grab an apple from a small pile of fruits on the table and have a bite.

Sirius was following her with a caution, regretting that he didn't have his wand with him. He coughed, attracting attention, but Lestrange ignored that. She squatted right where she was, on one leg, holding the apple in her mouth for a second, than putting it near the pile again. Her hand was one of a person used to manual work, Sirius observed as she did so, the knuckles rounded and the skin toughened. He glanced over his own hands with a little disappointment, as his were flawless, clean and pale, cartoon-like in comparison to hers. He had now sat up properly and was lost as to what to do, except to continue observing the odd girl he happened to share the spacious room with at the moment.

\- Got your tongue tangled, Lestrange? - he asked, perhaps a bit more aggressive than the situation was suggesting.

Lien had bent, her cheek almost touching her knee, ignoring Sirius once again, and was carefully untying the shoelaces tied around her calf, holding the weights. The muscles on her thighs were distinguishable, although not too large, Sirius could not help but to note. Some of her hair was out of the braid, electrified, and made her look even more charming.

\- What's that? - Black attempted a conversation, nodding at the bag Lien threw on the table. He was concerned as well, Sirius had just realised, and needed more information about what was going on.

\- Rice bag, - replied Lien, straightening up and tossing the second bag on top of the first one.

She had another bite of the apple, this time with a loud, pleasant crunch. For a moment there, Sirius wanted to be part of her life. She was full of it, and of freedom. It was a sudden, desperate urge, based on his subconscious acknowledgement that the Lestrange girl was cool, just as much she was odd.

\- Are you doing weight training? - he asked, pretending to be knowledgeable about the subject.

\- No, - cut Lien, finishing up the apple. She did not appreciate pretentiousness or pointless queries. - Just practicing.

\- No need to be shy, - said Sirius, stretching his hand across the back of the sofa and giving Lien a gracious smile. - I was just about to go for a run myself. - he shared out of the need to validate and justify himself.

Lien nodded without much faith in the seriousness of the claim. She threw the remains of her apple into bin behind Sirius, having it fly well above his head, and was about to leave, when the later came to terms with having had lost the motivation for the day.

\- Come on, Lestrange, have a seat, - he offered. - I won't bite you.

Lien gave him a quick assessing look. Her previous interactions with Sirius were mostly annoying, although not numerous. He and Potter would get in her way about as often as her cousin and his associates. Yet, it appeared that now she was curious about him, as he was about her.

Sirius looked back at her, now relaxed and feeling in control of the situation.

\- No, you won't, - Lien confirmed in a mild, confident intonation, claiming her contribution to that statement being the case. After a moment's thought, she proceeded to relocate to the armchair, her legs up the cushion. Yawning, she decided to also share a realisation she just came to.

\- You seem a bit different when you are alone, Black, - she said, serious and calm. - Without your friends.

\- You seem like you are always alone, - shrugged Sirius, unwilling to admit she had a point. There was no way he'd be this open and genuine with Lien, with no intention of turning the whole situation into a prank if James or Peter were around.

\- Sure, - paired Lien, untouched by the comment. - I'd go for a run now, if you meant it. The Hufflepuffs often practice Quidditch in the field at this time.

She grabbed her rice bags and jumped up on her feet, only a little bit disappointed that she had trusted Sirius Black, even if for a second. The truth was she was interested to converse with him on a more mature ground, and she let that get ahead of the caution dictated by prior experience she'd normally have.

\- Of course I meant it, - snorted Sirius, offended, watching Lien walk towards the girl's dorms. - I'll start tomorrow, - he promised.


	10. Morning Mail

Lien was chewing on a peanut butter sandwich and sipping warm lemon tea when she spotted her mother's owl among the birds bringing the morning mail. She assumed it was here for her cousin Rabastan, who got a shipping of treats on a regular basis, and it was possible that their owl was out of commission.

So, when the owl flew towards her, landing on her empty plate, she was surprised. It was a large, pitch black bird with piercing amber eyes and a sharp beak, something in its strict and angry features reminiscent of Jane Madeleine Lestrange. Lien hurried to untie the thread on its leg, not interested to spend more time with it than she had to.

She had received a letter in a cream-colored envelope with subtle engravings of her ancestors' name across the crimson wax seal. Wide, navy blue thread was wrapped around it, tied in a suspiciously symmetrical bow. Pulling from one end to open the letter, Lien was thinking that it looked too official to have anything good in store for her.

The owl hooted, tapping its claw on Lien's hand in expectation of a reward. She shrugged, annoyed, and tore a bit from her peanut butter sandwich, ignorantly longing it to the bird.

\- Oh, Lestrange, - sighed Lily Evans with a hint of judgement. - Owls won't eat that, - she informed, sliding closer to her roommate, with all the intention to help and educate, which she attempted to do every chance she got, proud to be more familiar with magical culture compared to the pureblood witch.

\- Sucks to be an owl. - concluded Lien, unwelcoming of a conversation. She did not harbor any feelings against Lily in particular, despite almost always coming across her at the wrong times. Right now she was just a little bitter from the earlier interaction with Sirius Black, and was not willing to open up again, in any capacity whatsoever.

She gently pushed her mother's owl away, and, when that did not achieve the intended result, she simply picked it up and dropped to her left, in between herself and Lily, careless whether that'd kill it or not. The owl, too confused and scared to conduct revenge, flew off, frantically flapping its wings. Lien smirked, satisfied.

\- Lestrange! - outraged Lily.

\- Ja, ja, Evans, - brushed off Lien, suppressing her own conscience, itching with the knowledge that her father wouldn't approve such treatment of her mother's property either. - Relax.

\- Look at that, James, - commented Sirius, loud enough for the girls to hear, elbowing his best friend. - Did we just find ourselves another rival?

The most mischievous pair of their generation resided a few yards away from Lily, across her and to her left, on the same uncomfortable bench that would go on to serve the incoming pairs of resourceful teenagers decades after. Peter Pettigrew, sleepily rubbing his watery eyes, left them, hurrying after Remus, as he promised to help him with his homework before the class.

\- What do you mean? - asked James with a little hostility, not bothering to look up. He had spent the better part of the morning washing his face, and had not been successful. Sirius' charms stuck strong, Potter had to admit once again, as well as the fact that he was the more talented one among the two.

\- Your princess is now exclaiming someone else's name, - Sirius winked at Lily, still loud enough to be audible to her. - And that enthusiasm, mate! - he continued, turning back to James. - It would kill me, if I were you.

Lily scoffed, graciously raising her pretty little nose and ruling that episode unworthy of a reaction. Ensuring the owl was fine and had joined the rest of the parliament at the exit, she stretched for the cereal bowl left at her original seat. She glanced at her roommate, curious whether the latter had paid attention to the comments that had just been made about them. Instead she took note of Lien's appearance and felt her lips stretch in a displeased, borderline jealous expression.

Lien's light brown hair was tied in the same loose French braid since morning, her shirt not ironed and large, the necktie and the ropes missing - as was the case on the days they didn't have Transfiguration most of the times. She was defined by being unpresentable at that moment, yet she was beautiful in an unintentional, accidental way. She often was, which, despite her kind nature, bothered Lily.

\- Lestrange, you are just impossible! - she informed, not appreciating the dismissive attitude she was getting from Lien. She looked away, giving in to the insecure desire to straighten a thin strand of her own hair, also rather high in volume and chaotic if left to its own accord.

Lien let that remain unanswered, completely focused on the envelope she had received. It was now lying open in front of her, and appeared as if it contained more than a sheet of paper. Recognising Euan's calligraphic handwriting at the visible part of the letter, she felt a little relief, and, continuing to sip her tea, started reading.

_Brat,_

_I am passing on Ted's regards – he returned from Peru and won't be quiet about it._

_Professor Slughorn had written your mother a letter. He seemed impressed and was encouraging her to encourage you do more of whatever that is you started doing. Well done. Or is there anything I should know?_

_Ta vare på deg selv._

_Kjærlig hilsen,_

_pappa_

She smiled a bittersweet, sad smile. In her mind she could hear her father's voice reading out loud the last lines. He had dry, British pronunciation that often wasn't good enough to be understood by native speakers. It was in fact so bad that sometimes Lien would end up translating for him. That had brought memories, and Lien exhaled with silent frustration, missing her homeland and her father. Feeling more sentimental than usual, she resolved to write a reply and remind Euan of his uncertain promise to visit her at Hogwarts given a few weeks ago, in August.

Lily - a careful and observant soul, watched Lien express the emotions she was going through in a subtle, hardly noticeable manner. However, something did seem to change as she read, as if her guard was down and she needed some support. So, Evans decided to step in.

\- Who's that from? - she asked, nodding at the letter. She got a glimpse of it, but didn't immediately make sense of the endnote or phantom who would refer to Lien as brat.

\- Min kjære pappa, - replied Lien, teasing both her roommate and the somewhat official tone of the letter. She didn't care that the intentional substitution of her mother tongue might be taking her natural weirdness a notch too far. Her mood was improving as she entertained the idea of perhaps convincing Euan to come, and, softened from that, she attempted to answer again. - It's from my father, Evans.

\- I see, - said Lily, unsure whether Lien was still messing with her or not.

Lestrange folded the sheet and put it back inside the envelope. Tempted to see what was the material manifestation of Ted's regards, she knew it was not a good idea. If not the Marauders, the members of her extended family at Slytherin would not spare efforts to ruin the experience in one way or the other.

She finished her tea, and was about to stand up and leave the hall when curiosity got the better of her. Her fingers slid inside the cream colored envelope, lifting the cover to expose what appeared to be a hoodie of a hand made sweater and a side of a simple, brand new book. The golden print on it indicating the author ended up being irresistible, and Lien dragged it out, opening. It was the collection of lectures about Srinivasa Ramanujan by G. H. Hardy, two mathematicians she had heard a good deal about from her father.

Lien's face lit up with excitement. She now had a plan of how to entertain herself at the double period of Potions in the afternoon.

Srinivasa Ramanujan was one of the brightest names in number theory, an unconventional scientist with a profound intuition for uncovering secrets hidden in rational numbers and their sequences. Despite having no delusions about sharing his talent, Lien could relate to him, she thought. With no formal education in mathematics herself, she too found enormous joy and fascination in spotting and generalizing patterns, be that an abstract pattern in encryption, or a practical one, appearing in nature or human-made structure; a passion that was near impossible to pursue at the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

She flipped through the pages, inhaling the smell of the fresh, industrial print. Sure enough, a sheet of graph paper with torn edges and folds dropped from it. Even with well spaced lines there to guide, Ted Thompson's unruly handwriting was all over the place. He thought fast, he wrote fast, unconcerned about legibility. There were some doodlings in the margins, colored with pencils as if they were actual illustrations.

Lien lifted her leg and put it on the bench, getting comfortable. Ted's letter was longer than that of her father, and heavier on the content in all likelihood.

_Hi, Lien._

_How are you doing?_

_Your father and I spent quite some time the other day, catching up on a couple of things, including you. So, I gather that the summer was dull for most of the part. But, listen, what were you thinking - running off?! I can't imagine how worried your parents must have been. I would have gone insane if I knew you were missing. _

_I am not going to lie, I was almost angry when professor Lestrange told me about this. If it was up to me - I'd ground you till you graduated from the school. It was dangerous and irresponsible, Lien. No next times, alright?_

_Now, I take my due credit in this, too - please, don't run away from school anymore to come to London either. I should have told you this the first time you did._

\- When did Ted become so bloody mature? -mumbled Lestrange, rolling her eyes, - and boring.

_Don't get too upset though. I still want to hear all about where you had been and what have you done while on that adventure of yours._

_As for me, I flew to Lima straight from Bonn. It has been a lot of fun - the weather, the nature, the food. I completed my research as well, and, if all goes as planned, soon I'll be signing as Dr. Thompson, and it will be true!_

_I got you a couple of things from there, which your father promised to ship. The sweater is called poncho. The name's funny, true, and it looks funny, but it's pretty neat and warm. I got the pink on purpose, yes._

_Professor Lestrange said he's been messing with you on infinite series as well. I'd say it's early for you to get there yet, but he probably knows better. Anyway, I bet you'll like Hardy's lectures. If you don't understand some things, we sure can talk about them. That one's a present (I missed your birthday, didn't I?), but the textbooks on cryptography I am going to need back._

_I haven't been going to practices recently. Hope you are doing better than me on that, although it would be really embarrassing if you beat me next time we spar. Which is the first thing we'll do when we meet._

_I want to do this trail up Skiddaw for Christmas, or early in January. It has a few perfectly vertical climbs and slippery mud roads from what I hear - all as you like. I can take you with me as well, unless, of course, professor Lestrange comes up with other plans. To prevent that from happening, stay put till then, alright?_

_I can't wait to discuss the "The Inhabited Island" with you! It seems like you got into trouble with your mother for reading it? I am sorry if that's the case. But, if you are up for it (which I am sure you are) and if you liked it, try "Hard to Be a God" next. That one's probably my favorite. Or "Beetle in the Anthill", if you want to go chronologically._

_Write back, little rascal. I know you are lazy, but a paragraph or two won't kill you._

_Hugs,_

_Ted Thompson_

\- Who is Ted Thompson? - inquired Lily, genuinely interested after hearing Lien mumble his name.

\- A friend, - answered Lien, figuring that might be simpler than getting worked up about her reading at least parts of the letter. - I've got one of those.

\- No, no, Lestrange, I didn't, - started Lily. She didn't mean to imply that Lien had no friends, and she didn't think she did, but it felt as if she was guilty of that nevertheless.

\- Relax, Evans, - shrugged Lien, not caring for the possible apology, especially since there was a far bigger problem emerging. She rapidly folded up Ted's letter and put it inside the pocket of her skirt, the happiness of receiving it fading away with the aforementioned problem approaching.

On their way out the Great Hall of Hogwarts Rabastan Lestrange and Bartemius Crouch Junior had sniffed out that something extraordinary had taken place at the Gryffindor table. Encouraged by the fear to appear a coward in the other's eyes, they both walked towards Lien. She was sitting at the edge of the table, isolated from the rest of the students except for Lily Evans, making it easier for them.

\- Good morning, Gwendolien, - greeted Rabastan. He smiled, wide and creepy, not minding the sharp looks James and Sirius shot at him.

\- Keep walking, Rabastan, - answered Lien, sounding as harsh as she could, - and collect the Junior with you.

Crouch let out a short, loud laughter, showing no intention of obliging, apparently with either of the Lestranges. He stretched across the table to grab the book about Ramanujan instead.

Mary McDonald - a fourth year Ravenclaw prefect, looked at them over her shoulder. She correctly identified the situation, but opted not to interfere, hoping it won't escalate. She was insecure in her new position, as the Hall was getting sparse and there didn't seem to be any staff members or other prefects around.

\- You are not very polite, are you? - said Bartemius to Lien, twisting the book around in his claw-like, somewhat misshapen fingers. The plain, inanimate object was foreign to him, the title too ridiculous and senseless to culminate in a meaningful pun, so he threw it back and longed for the half-open envelope.

Lien sat still and silent, employing every single shred of self control to do so. She expected that all will be over soon with no long-lasting consequences. For one thing, her cousin was never late to class on purpose, and the first period was about to start. For another, Bartemius Crouch Junior appeared to be a new recruit in their circle of bullies, and there was a chance that he was still learning how to be one.

\- Is it from your good-for-a-mudblood dad? - asked Rabastan, nodding at the envelope Bartemius now had in his hands.

\- Watch what comes out of your mouth, Lestrange!

That was James Potter, rising from his seat the moment he heard the slur and saw Lily blush. Evans, so fierce and uncompromising most of the times, now looked defeated and powerless, tears beading at her beautiful green eyes. It was not so much the fact of being called a mudblood - in all fairness, no one was talking to her, but how ignorant and inconsiderate her classmate was at using the term.

\- You don't say, Potter, - paired Rabastan, disgusted and arrogant. Somehow he found the likes of Potters and Weasleys more repulsive than his own blood-traitor uncle and cousin. - Or else what?

\- Want to find out? - challenged James.

Lien exhaled, glad that Rabastan's focus seemed to shift. Hers was nailed at Bartemius reading the cover of the envelope she received.

Sirius Black, now involved, was staring at her in disbelief, as she seemed perfectly at peace with someone throwing such an insult at her father. Sirius wasn't sure she understood what was said, for if it wasn't for their rather awkward encounter earlier in the morning, he probably would have stood up for her himself.

Lien understood. She was raised by her good-for-a-mudblood father, after all, who was of the opinion that words hold no intrinsic value and gain meaning only when assigned one. Euan claimed his power to not allow people he did not respect offend him, and so did his daughter. Rabastan's words meant negligently little to her, regardless of what those words were.

She extended her hand towards Crouch with the expectation of getting her package back, assuming Bartemius had no personal stake in the matter and would follow Rabastan's lead to harass Potter instead of her. She was wrong.

Bartemius gave her a wide smile, feeding om every second of the intensifying situation. He snapped his fingers inside the envelope, getting it to expand. He then turned it upside down, letting the contents pour on the table. First the raspberry red, purple striped sweater slid out, hitting the ground with a dull sound. Than some chocolate bars and a couple of worn out books.

That was exactly a step too far.

Before the chocolates reached the ground, Lien had her hand on the hem of her cousin's robe, at the level of his chest. She squeezed it, enjoying the tension build up in her arm, and pulled Rabastan closer. He dropped, losing balance, his knees hitting the leg of the table and his chin touching the surface. The fabric tightened, cutting to his neck. The wand he had reached out for to jinx James escaped his grip and flew off a few yards, landing within Lily's reach.

What made him scream, attracting Mary's attention for the second time, was the silver fork at a millimeter's distance from his left eye. Lien had loosened her fingers after grabbing the utensil from Lily's plate, so it would wobble; letting Rabastan know she was only 80% in control and would be okay with an accidental scratch.

\- Please put my shit it where it belongs, Crouch, - she said, and continued, stating her warning as a casual matter of fact. - If you go for your stick, I'll stab his face.

\- Barty, - squeaked Rabastan in a small voice, pleading for help. He had no delusions about his chances of overpowering her, or about those of Crouch to be faster on the draw than her on stabbing. Worst of all, there was no authority nearby she'd submit to, and he had enough experiences with his younger cousin to be clear that she meant what she said.

\- In Merlin's name, Lien, - weighed in Lily, perhaps the most scared of them all. She tried to sound as soft and warm as possible, unsure whether her roommate was just a terrible and cruel person, or was a person battling her own demons in the need of help she'd never ask for. - Stop.

\- Ms. Lestrange! - yelled Mary McDonald, finally gathering the courage to act upon her duties. - 50 points of Gryffindor!

Lien had a sigh. It was amusing to her that none of the prefects had figured by now that she had no investment in that pointless point game.

\- Crouch, - she pressed, not minding Mary or James outraging about what she did.

She raised her pale green eyes on Bartemius, at the same time lowering her middle finger, letting the fork slide down and rest at the bridge of Rabastan's nose. She could not help to grin for an instant, flavoring him shiver.

Bartemius, more confused than scared, had stuffed her belongings into the envelope and put it on the table.

\- Chill, Gwendolien, - he said, a hint of fear dripping off his self-absorbed, confident voice, too. - We don't need your garbage.

Lien nodded and let go of Rabastan, accurately placing the fork back where she took it from.

\- I am sorry, McDonald, - she said to Mary with a little shrug, seemingly unconcerned about the disciplinary action the later was going to implement against her. Giving it a moment's thought, she went on. - I didn't start this.

Lien stood up, throwing her old, worn out backpack on her shoulder. As she longed across the table to gather the collection of lectures about Ramanujan and the cream-colored envelope, her eyes locked with those of Sirius for a second.

Black's striking gray eyes were expressive of fascination more than anything. He was impressed and surprised, and only after that concerned.

\- That's true, - he said, disengaging from Lien and turning to Mary McDonald. He spoke with confidence, the kind that bordered with a feeling of entitlement. Growing up in a traditional pureblood household, Sirius had internalized the belief that he was special and his testimony was worth more than a regular one. - The idiots called her father… - He stopped, remembering that wasn't what triggered the violent reaction. - They opened the package she received.

Looking back where he expected to see Lien, all Black saw was her rapidly distancing back, the loose braid swinging from side to side as she walked.


	11. Proportionate Punishments

Soon after the classes ended Lien, Rabastan and Bartemius Crouch Junior found themselves in the office of their Transfiguration professor, lined up in front of her desk. Horace Slughorn, incompetent he might have been at holding his arrogant students accountable to their actions, was also present. Rather a spineless individual, he was used to outsourcing the discipline to his prefects, some of whom found unhealthy joy in humiliating the younger ones, and was now feeling uneasy, completely out of place. It was almost as if his colleague wanted to punish him as well, along with the wizards under his care.

\- So, my dear boys, - started Slughorn, kind and soothing, - why don't you help us clear up the confusion?

\- The confusion, - echoed McGonagall, raising an eyebrow to emphasize how disapproving she was of the presumption of innocence Slytherin students were in fact entitled to. Sitting in her armchair, leaning at her desk, her chin resting on her locked fingers, she was a little tense. Every time she had to deal with Lien Lestrange, she had to prepare herself for multiple dilemmas she knew she'd face. Fine lines around her eyes deepened into shallow wrinkles, making the professor look a little older than she perhaps was.

\- Well, we mustn't assume anything until we have heard everyone, - replied Slughorn, with a little more assertion than he would expect from himself.

\- I appreciate your scepticism about Mr. Black and Mr. Potter, but both Ms. McDonald and Ms. Evans confirmed what they had to say, - cut McGonagall, determined and uncompromising. - Mind you, Horace, this is a very serious accusation, and I have no intention of tolerating such behavior in this castle, - she continued, making it clear that despite numerous other occasions where Slytherin students were allowed to exploit the leniency of their Head of the House, this time was going to be different.

\- Of course, of course, - dragged Slughorn, defeated, complying and even less comfortable than before. - How do you respond to that serious accusation, my boys?

Rabastan and Bartemius exchanged quick glances, worried and furious at the same time. They didn't know each other well enough to predict the other's behavior, and both of them were outraged that the rather benign by their metrics interaction with the least popular witch in the school was culminating in them getting into trouble. Prepared to lie for their benefit, neither was sure what would be worse - to suffer the consequences or to admit that professor McGonagall, only a half blood witch, was a threat serious enough for them to renounce their own words.

Rabastan was boiling inside, the hatred towards his little cousin fogging all the rational thought in his mind. Just an hour ago he had also learned that she failed to submit the Astronomy homework instead of him, counter the request he had made in the beginning of the semester. For one thing, his impeccable record was not one anymore, for another - it was more evident now that he himself did not constitute much of a threat to Lien, and those were hard blows to his ego.

\- What is the problem, professor? - He asked, focusing on Slughorn, well aware that nothing he'll say would pass with McGonagall. - I just approached this... - he paused, collecting himself. - Gwendolien to wish her a good morning, and she almost gauged my eyes out.

\- Mr. Lestrange, - said McGonagall, getting his attention, - we will address that shortly. What I want you to understand now is that the language you have used is absolutely inappropriate.

\- I didn't say anything that wasn't true, - replied Rabastan with a small shrug, choosing to stand by what he believed in. - Professor.

\- If I may, ma'am, - Bartemius inserted himself in with a nice, innocent demeanour before Rabastan would dive deeper into trouble, - Lestrange here, - he gestured towards Lien, - doesn't seem all that upset. Is it maybe that Ms. Evans and Ms. McDonald overreacted a little?

Minerva McGonagall turned her strict, bluey green eyes at her student, confident what to expect. Lien Lestrnage stood tall and straight, the backpack she inherited after years of prior use tossed over her shoulder, about to slide off; her hand in the pocket of the skirt that appeared a few inches shorter than it was supposed to be, the robes and necktie missing. Having had been in similar situations often enough to grow immune to all the scolding and disappointment that was coming her way, she was now uninterested, rather impatient for the meeting to be over than concerned about its consequences.

Rabastan Lestrange and Bartemius Crouch, on both sides of her, were holding brand new leather briefcases, groomed and dressed up as required, - making professor McGonagall ashamed to admit that the contrast was gravitating in their favor.

Rabastan was an inch or two shorter than his classmate and wider in the shoulders than seemed right for the rest of him. His stomach was rounded, showing from under the robes, reminding Lien of her grandfather Crius. His face was pale and squared, with a little scruff on the cheeks. His ice-blue eyes were jumping from his Head of the House to that of Gryffindor, unsure what to expect. Up until this point he had managed to negotiate his way out of trouble, and this could have been the first time he'd get an official detention. Self-aware, he held his head up and stretched on his toes to appear taller, which was more hilarious than effective.

Bartemius - a slim, well built fellow with a clean shaved, just as pale of a face, was relaxed on the outside. He was more cunning, better versed at said negotiations, and was not as concerned about his public image as Rabastan was. It was a bit of a snobbish confidence that Crouch had, certain that things will work out for him, an attitude formed from a combination of his careless, perfect childhood powerful parents had provided for him and his impressive set of natural talents. He was always focused, observant to his surroundings, ready to adapt and make the setting work in his favor.

\- Is that true, my dear girl, - asked professor Slughorn, open to an answer he might not like, - was the report an exaggeration?

\- I guess, - shrugged Lien, tired. If there was one thing that appealed less to her than the wizarding underworld of Great Britain, it was letting others fight her battles for her, no matter the circumstances. Even if she was at all offended at Rabastan or Bartemius, she wouldn't tell so to a teacher and expect them to protect her. It took her Head of the House, professor McGonagall, a semester to learn to differentiate that from her being afraid to speak up against the people that had hurt her, and about a semester more to accept her position.

\- That doesn't matter, - she said, as was the plan regardless of Lien's answer. - I'd like you, Mr. Lestrange, to apologize and to compile an eleven inch parchment about a prominent muggleborn wizard.

\- That is reasonable, - nodded Slughorn. Despite what one might expect of a man at his job, Horace Slughorn was not at all encouraging of the language in question. He respected muggleborns, even adored them as one would an inexplicable and fascinating natural phenomenon, in condensing, but not at all malicious way.

\- I have more important things to do, - snorted Rabastan, both furious from the humiliation and relieved, as there was no reason to expect his transfiguration teacher would find a writing assignment to be proportional punishment to what she considered an inexcusable utterance.

\- Good, - concluded professor McGonagall, ignoring the insignificant outburst. - I am given to understand, Ms. Lestrange, - she turned to Lien, - that you were about to, for lack of a better word, stab your cousin?

Lien pulled over the strap of her bag, securing it. She was now somewhat remorseful she didn't wait to go to her room before opening up the package, since Rabastan was going to do everything in his power to make her suffer for every single word on that useless scroll. She lowered her head, looking to a side, so that she wouldn't be addressing anyone in particular.

\- Can I just get a detention, and we'll be done with this?

Professor McGonagall sighed, closing her eyes for a second. Lien Lestrange was perhaps the biggest and most unusual challenge in her pedagogical career thus far. She was wild, even cruel and violent at times, more than capable of threatening another student to stab them. Full of attitude, uncooperative, self-sufficient to a fault, unwilling to abide by rules - ones concerning the uniform in particular, struggling with most of her classes and hostile for no apparent reason, the teenager made it exceptionally hard for McGonagall to approach her.

\- Ms. Lestrange, - she exhaled, shaking her head, disappointed with the almost aggressive answer. She could not help but feel as if she was failing Lien. She was the child in the relationship, after all, and McGonagall should have been more patient, able to see beyond her defensive defiance and find a way to communicate. Instead, she would attack back. - Detentions aren't something we hand out upon request...

\- If I may, - interrupted Crouch again, still smiling, all fluff and innocence. It was very much possible that whoever had reported the incident had also reported about him tempering with Lien's package, so he hurried to confess a version of the events portraying him in a better light. - I believe Lestrange misinterpreted our intentions when we came up to her, and must have thought that without her almost gauging Rabastan's eyes out I would harm her belongings. However, we had nothing of the sort in mind.

Lien turned towards him, curious. She was wondering whether all the time and effort both her teachers and classmates were wasting could have been put to better use, and her conclusion was positive.

\- Sure, - she confirmed. It was not wrong, after all. - I got the idea from you dropping my shit… - Lien paused, catching herself, and hurried to correct before getting yelled at. - Stuff.

\- I cannot have students pointing forks at others for any reason, ms. Lestrange! - cut her professor, equally intolerant towards pureblood supremacist and street slang.

\- I thought so, - nodded Lien, untouched. - If you just gave me the detention when I asked, ma'am, it would spare you the irrelevant information, wouldn't it?

\- Ms. Lestrange! - McGonagall wanted to be on Lien's side and help her feel better, whatever that would mean. But Lestrange would always do something like this - throw in a swear word or act sassy, and, although that'd reassure McGonagall the girl at least had the guts typical for those in her House, doing so pushed the transfiguration professor further away, making her act as if the two were in a confrontation. - Five points off Gryffindor! - she declared, standing up.

\- Sorry, - mumbled Lien to be polite, aware of how much those points mattered to the rest of the school.

McGonagall, exercising genuine effort to ignore the smug, satisfied expressions Slytherin students were acquiring, sat down with a silent sigh. Her lips stretched to a thin line, and, as she continued, her voice hardened and her eyes lit up with the strictness and determination all of her students came to fear and respect.

\- I am more than disappointed, Ms Lestrange. There is no justification, or any mitigating circumstances in your behaviour. House of Gryffindor values bravery and courage, but not violence. Above all, I value high morals and good manners in my students, and I will not tolerate such demeanour as you have displayed today.

\- I know, - said Lien, her sight lowering to the ground, not so much because she was ashamed or remorseful, but more because she thought McGonagall was not fair towards her and because McGonagall had all the power and all the intentions to detain her further, and Lien just wanted to be done with the whole thing. To her, there was no need to discipline either herself or Crouch or Rabastan - they clashed and parted ways with their limbs intact. If the adults could just turned a blind eye, it would have been better for everyone. - I said I was sorry.

McGonagall, still employing considerable mental energy to ignore the tangible aura of victoriousness Rabastan and Bartemius were giving away, turned to her colleague, as if asking him for an input.

\- Well, my dear girl, - said Slughorn, smiling for the meeting approaching its end, but clueless how to exact appropriate punishment on both Lien and Bartemius. - … a-and Barty. I think it would serve you two right to revoke your Hogsmeade privileges for a month.

\- I don't have any Hogsmeade privileges, - informed Lien, matter of fact.

Professor McGonnagal leaned back at the wide, soft back of her crimson armchair. She was entertaining two trains of thought, both concerning her unusual student. First, it was unprecedented for magical parents to decline signing the Hogsmeade permit for their children, let alone write a letter asking the staff to take extra precautions to prevent their offspring from leaving the premises of the castle on their own. Despite there being an implication that had already happened in the past, McGonagall thought the request to be strange and unnecessarily harsh, which, in turn, made her sympathise with Lien a little. Second, it had again come to light that the girl never seemed to take shortcuts or advantages. She was fair towards herself, as well as to others, peacefully accepting of consequences of her unlawful actions - a rare and commendable quality McGonagall was very appreciative of. She let out a subtle, almost apologetic smile, wishing Lien showcased only such qualities.

Rabastan snorted - loud and clear, wishing real hard to voice another comment about Lien's good-for-a-mudblood father, or at least express an approval about her mother - a healer witch he in fact liked very much, putting the savage daughter on a short leash.

\- Alright than, - said Slughorn, tiniest bit impressed Lien would give out that information of her own accord. - How about you help me clean up my classroom instead?

\- Sure, - said Lien, impatient. She was in the middle of a very interesting and relatable lecture when she got called in. It was describing how Ramanujan struggled with the British culture when he first came, and how restrictive was the rigorous, proof-based approach to mathematics for him, which he had been conquering with raw talent and epic intuition. - Can we go now?

\- Of course, of course, - replied Slughorn reassuringly, failing to clear that rapid dismissal with his colleague first, - I will see you tomorrow evening, my girl.

Watching both Lestranges walk out her office, following after their classmate Bartemius Crouch Junior, professor McGonagall longed for the quill on her desk, thoughtfully tapping her long, thin fingers at the edge of the wooden desk. On one hand, she should have followed through with her request of Rabastan to apologize, on the other - it was imperative to remind Lien that Hogwarts had a dress code and the staff cared about it as often as an opportunity presented itself. However, it appeared that at this point there were higher priorities.

\- Professor Slughorn, - she called, conscious that she was about to admit of having had done a bad job, albeit to a small extent.

\- Yes, Professor McGonagall? - paired the Potions master, stopping at the doors and turning around.

\- Sometimes I wonder if Ms. Lestrange would have done better if she was sorted into your house, - shared McGonagall for no particular reason or a prompt. It had been occurring to her at higher and higher frequencies that softness and care might have been more successful in transforming a misfit teenager than strictness and structure had been so far. - I was hoping you could keep an eye on her.

\- Of course, Minerva, - smiled Slughorn, lacking an idea of how to do that. He was good with the bright, talented, promising, well spoken students and, as far as he could tell, Lien Leatrange was none of those things, and Minerva McGonagall was perfectly aware of that. She also knew that Horace Slughorn was a caring, well-meaning wizard, and would do his best regardless.


	12. Descending conflict

Severus Snape longed his hand towards Lily Evans, a beautiful young witch with wide, bright green eyes he was fortunate enough to call a friend. On his open palm rested a large, seemingly heavy book in furry, mud-colored cover. It had small, smoke exhaling nostrils at the bottom, as well as light-gray, clunky feathers at the edges. The animated picture positioned slightly left to the center was that of a white winged horse galloping through the dim sky of early sunrise.

\- Thank you, - smiled Lily, pulling the strap of her bag higher up her shoulder, and reached out for the book. - I read all the mythology I could find in our library at the Spinner's End, - she continued, shrugging, as if justifying herself, since she always felt a little uneasy when having to reference their common past grounded in muggle context.

\- Yeah? - Severus returned the smile with an effort, his shaking fingers running through his thin, greasy hair, swiping them off his forehead. - Did you come across anything interesting? - he asked, his exceptionally capable mind branching out to two more threads of thought as he did so.

\- Well, - Lily shrugged again, unenthusiastic, yet eager to show off the knowledge she had acquired over summer, as well as the rigor of it. - There is this legend appearing in different cultures with insignificant variations, - she started, firing up with the sentence progressing, while Snape lost his focus.

There were two scenes of high relevance to the young, unpopular wizard that manifested behind his collocutor and to her left, a flight of stairs below. First, James Potter was approaching them, visibly nervous about it. Peter Pettigrew tagged along, blending into the surrounding world. The pair walked in a measured, efficient pace, with James being the obvious leader. His necktie was just loose enough to signal the rebellious spirit he was acquiring from his best friend. The leather cover of his new bag reflected candlelight from the walls, granting his figure a partial oreol. With his impeccable hair, high in volume and sunshine through, even with the palpable anxiety Potter looked fine and confident.

The contrast between his more appealing features and his own stood out to Snape as it always did. He was used to feeling down when coming across James Potter, just like Peter Pettigrew was used to his personality evaporating and him becoming a tense knot of observing and ever-adapting mesh.

\- … that is about, - Lily stopped herself mid sentence, catching on Snape's sight wandering behind her. She turned around to see her housemates. Pausing for another second to collect herself, she decided to acknowledge their presence. - Potter. Pettigrew.

\- Evans, - grinned Potter, slowing down. - Do you need a hand explaining Snivellus that our tower is right there, and no snakes are welcome, - he gracefully motioned towards the Transfiguration classroom, catching a glimpse of the second scene Severus found of interest as well, - or he was on his way?

Potter's hand, casually holding one of the snitches he owned, slid towards Snape, and, before the latter could react, bumped him in the shoulder. The metallic wings glided over his cheek, almost pleasantly scratching over smooth, pale skin. Holding on to his balance more successfully than it was expected of a timid teenager he was, Snape brushed off the hand, without answering. There were periods in his life he felt at peace about being a target for the Marauders, when lacked the energy to engage them in a fair exchange of jinxes and insults. In particular, when the attacks occured in Lily's proximity, he felt especially powerless, in a situation that didn't render a positive outcome for him no matter what. Depressed, muggles would have diagnosed him.

On the other hand, James' grin widened, but, before he could continue, Lily Evans stepped forward, positioning herself in between the two.

\- James Potter! - she said loudly, hoping that would attract his attention, which it never failed to do. She looked at Peter for a second, as if looking for an ally. - What do you want?

\- I was just wandering, - James replied immediately, stepping towards Lily. He released the snitch, showing off the confidence he had in his ability to get it. - Well, I wouldn't call it wandering, exactly, - he continued, - since it isn't that surprising Snivellus here cannot take care of his little girlfriend.

He was mean, rude and unapologetically mischievous. The kind of contained, conscious impoliteness that had a spark about it. Therefore, if it wasn't for Lily's apriori dislike of him, she might have found him quite charming.

\- Not at all, - confirmed Peter, approaching the handrail, bending over it, and searching for the said girlfriend.

He soon spotted a thin figure with Lien Lestrange's recognisable backpack standing a few yards away from the staircase leading to the Transfiguration classroom. Leaving the office, she had jolted right, in the direction opposite to the one she expected her cousin, his friend and their Head of House, Professor Slughorn to take. She climbed down the stairs, jumping over three at a time. Just about to land on the corridor, she squatted and leaned back, escaping the charm shot at what would have been her chest had she kept her original trajectory.

She had stopped, breathing in. She didn't know who authored the ambiguous, orange shaded ball of glitter that hit the wall next to her, and how dangerous contracting it could have been. The air around it felt boiling hot and didn't smell too pleasant.

Lien had now straightened up, turning left to see whether Rabastan was coming down the stairs or not. He was, and his steps were heavy from his weight, as well as rage. Peter observed older Lestrange's less recognisable, round figure come closer to her, pushing her to the wall, and, although Lien seemed like she had it together, could not help but to empathise with her.

\- I don't have a girlfriend, Potter, - Snape exhaled. It was amusing to him how just a couple of meetings in a public space discussing a school assignment were a ground for the idiot Gryffindors to label him and Lien a couple. - I am not surprised by how low your standards of a relationship are, - he shrugged coldly, walking away from the group. - See you later, Lily.

\- Bye, - smiled Evans, walking in the opposite direction. Unaware of the situation unfolding downstairs, and uninterested in further conversation, she swung by James and Peter, her head high, making her posture borderline dismissive and arrogant.

James extended his hand, catching his snitch just behind Lily's shoulder, brushing against a lock of her hair.

\- Good bye, Evans, - he grinned, ignoring being ignored. - I will see you in the common room, ay! - he echoed after her, and, dropping his hand around Peter's shoulder, had a deep, heart-felt sigh, passing on quarrelling further.

The meaning of Snivellus' comment was not completely clear to him. Still, the realization that something right has been pointed out bothered him, lingered in his throat, mudding his thoughts for the evening. It was indeed the case that if few encounters over a Potions assignment were enough to render a pair romantically involved, he and Lily Evans would have been one. Their interactions had been more numerous, and not always as thorny as the most recent one. Nevertheless, there was no meaningful way one could label Lily Evans his girlfriend, as much as he would love that.

Severus walked down the stairs, headed towards the spot he thought he saw Lien and his long term roommate. Snape was not of a high opinion about Rabastan, - no one he knew really was, - and it appeared to him that Lien was being disadvantaged and abused. If that was the case, Snape would have wanted to stop it. However, as he didn't know much about her, he did not reserve the right to intervene straight away.

\- You muggle-loving, disgusting…

It was Rabastan's voice, full of anger and judgement. Severus stopped for a second, longed to his bag, retrieving their Potion's parchment he received from professor Slughorn earlier in the day. It now had corrections and largely positive feedback. Still, as Snape was expecting, there was a lot of opportunity for improvement and elaboration. He was, in fact, excited to work more with Lien, he just articulated in his mind, and Rabastan's apparent hatred towards her was somewhat hurtful to him as well.

Severus hesitated for a second, debating whether to proceed and land Lien a helping hand or not. He nodded with a short, reserved smile, content with the made choice. It felt like he knew enough about Lien to trust her, to assume that she needed and could be provided with his support. Stepping down the stairs and reaching the Lestrange siblings, he stopped, waiting for an appropriate moment in their conversation to interrupt, suggesting Lien comes with him to work on their paper.

\- Piece of dragon dung! - spit Rabastan.

He approached Lien, getting closer than seemed appropriate. Lien exhaled, loud and tired. She could walk away, she thought, which would perhaps involve hitting her cousin. She felt inclined to follow the path of least resistance, however. As a current. A stream of what a smart muggle once called electrons, flowing in a pipe of rubber through copper strings, empowering light bulbs. The thought prompted memories of her father, his now former PhD student, the package she had received from them in the morning, and the people she had been missing with an intensity.

\- Shut up, - she said, almost inaudible.

First time Lien met her cousin she was nine years old. It was the first time Euan had let her come with him to Great Britain - a vague, distant concept. Then Lien was an independent, adventurous yet well-behaved girl from an urban neighborhood in Oslo, excited to meet her mother, her brothers and her extended family despite cautious warnings her father had been giving her throughout the years. She expected her brothers to be cool and strong, like the older guys from the block she was playing with. Flavoring them teaching her magic, and her teaching them to ride a bike and climb rocks, she had been preparing herself for a major disappointment.

\- How dare you?! - hissed Rabastan. His ice-blue, almond-shaped eyes, unaware of the background sentiments Lien was experiencing at the moment, were harsh, expressive of a cruelty comprising his core.

He was ten when they first met. Closeted, sheltered and raised in centuries old comfort, Rabastan was full of prejudices and preconceived notions about Lien, extrapolated from what he thought about her father. It was part Euan's polite and gentle character, that to his young, self-absorbed mind came across as timid and weak, and part the numerous unflattering comments about him the family would never fail to make at gatherings that shaped that opinion. To him, Lien was no different than a common muggle, a mammal with no grace or dignity. He was not impressed when they met, and his mind hasn't changed.

\- Little... - he started again, stepping closer, attempting to put his hand over Lien, pinning her to the wall.

She yawned, bored, easily sliding away from him. The strap of the backpack slid off her shoulder. Pulling it up, she saw Severus Snape, standing in the hallway, looking in their direction.

\- Listen, If you want me doing your homework for you, - she interrupted in a calm, advising manner, - you should do better than Cissy Black.

Severus was not certain what the second clause meant. Rabastan, however, seemed hurt rather profoundly. He stepped back, longing for the wand in the pocket of his robes, as Lien could not help but to let out an unsure, doubtful smile. Her cousin was more than skilled enough to inconvenience her at least, yet she knew he was not nearly decisive enough to pull the trigger on his own. The gamble still carried some risk, as she pulled on the gentlest strings of her cousin's souls, preying on his intimate insecurities, while he was under the effect both of the recent issue of detention and the failing grade.

\- Lucius Malfoy would do, I guess, - she continued, her smile widening just an inch.

Severus tilted his head, conflicted again. It appeared that he must somehow defend his friend, although there was no reason to assume that Lucius had been offended. The implication of Lien's comparison was that he was better that Narcissa Black on some criteria, which wasn't a negative thing to be accused of.

\- Or Avery, - said Lien, a hint of cruelty sipping through her voice. - Maybe even Snape here, huh?

Caught off guard, Severus opened his mouth, as if to say something. Instead, he observed Lien put her open palm on Rabastan's chest as the latter turned towards where Snape was standing. Their eyes met for a second, while the elder Lestrange slowly inhaled, unsure how to react. Before he would decide on that, Lien pushed him away with no visible effort, walking right past him, as if not recognizing his presence anymore.

\- Bloody Gorgona, - mumbled Rabastan powerlessly, taking a few steps back, since the force his cousin exerted on him was enough to provide his mass with some acceleration. He felt embarrassed and humiliated, letting his roommate witness his failure.

Lien walked by Snape as well, assuming that he was not here for her. It bit on her - the unconscious assumption that the closest person she had to a friend in Hogwarts was perhaps on the side of her cousin. She was triumphant nevertheless - having had spit out some of the anger she had been harboring for a while now, and the adrenaline of having had hurt a vengeous, small-minded creature rushing through her veins. During such moments of satisfaction and fear on the back of her mind Lien always imagined her father standing at the corner, leaning against the wall, observing her and being disappointed. Euan was never cruel on purpose.

\- Lestrange, - called Severus, turning his back to Rabastan, as he decided that pretending he never saw anything the latter wouldn't want him to would have been the better strategy. - Gwen… Lien, - he specified, since the girl didn't stop at "Lestrange". - I thought we could work on the paper.

\- Sure, - she shrugged reluctantly, and continued walking.

Snape caught up with her. He had his doubts about the choice he made. For all practical reasons, Rabastan was a more permanent and important part of his life. They shared a room and often found themselves around the same people, such as the aforementioned members of what would become the most notorious generation of Death Eaters. Still, since any other choice would have entailed letting Lien slip away for good and never become a permanent part of his life, Snape knew he would have regretted it.

He followed her to the Astronomy Tower without a word. There she had made herself a corner behind the old telescopes in the storage, with a piece of wood stolen from Hagrid last year and a very comfortable blanket. It was her space, location where she took refuge from all magical and annoying, and, seeing how Snape was not able to keep up with her pace, falling behind, she decided against sharing it with him.

Entering the observation room, she sat on the floor, beside the large windows, her feet in the square of the sun shining through the window. Severus, still hesitant and full of doubts, came in and sat next to her, far enough as not to touch. The floor was cold and sitting on it was not exactly pleasant. It has only now occurred to him that neither Lien nor Rabastan have asked for his participation in their familial conflict, and that Lien might have been looking for some time alone now.

As Lestrange stared at the entrance, filled with an odd, disarming trust towards a person she was about to learn about a little more and unravel to him her own self, her fate of a night of the following spring was being constructed.

One could successfully argue that her fate of the aforementioned night was in fact decided eight years ago, under a full moon, by a vengeful adult werewolf deeply offended by a comment about his kind. One could engage in an infinite regression of causes.

Regardless of their true origins, events were taking place in all the points of the four dimensional world. Near the same point in time, and not very far away from the point in space occupied by Lien and Severus, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew approached their friends that have been waiting for them for less than five minutes.

\- Your father, - Lien said quietly to Snape, yet looking down. - Do you hate him?


	13. Confessions

Sirius Black was lying on the grass of rich green color, looking at the beautiful blue sky. He has recently developed a distracting habit of watching the clouds and recognising shapes. The large round Sun shined bright to his young, careless eyes as he squinted. Remus Lupin was half-squatting, leaning against the wall of the Astronomy Tower, nervously sipping from a handmade clay mug filled with pumpkin flavored hot tea. He had on the worn out robes from the last year, noticeably restrictive on shoulders, and trousers that had a few tears and holes around the knees. Despite being the son of a successful academic, and in possession of brand new clothes, Remus seemed aware of the inevitability that his financial security will terminate. It was as if he was preparing himself for the pending hardships.

As he watched James Potter and Peter Pettigrew run towards himself and Sirius, Remus had another large gulp of the tea. He did not recall being this scared ever before in his yet short, but objectively complicated life. Not even when he was a ten year old werewolf, listening to his parents conversing with Albus Dumbledore, discussing the possibility of his attending the school. He didn't want that to happen at the time. He was now glad it did.

\- Snivellus is such a pathetic creature, - declared James Potter, dropping right on Sirius.

\- Mate! - exclaimed Black protestingly. Feeling his best friend's weight on his rather soft, weak stomach was not as painful or uncomfortable, as it was degrading. He put his hands on Potter's back trying to push him away, but James was confidently holding his position with a satisfied grin.

\- Snivellus is smart, - said Remus thoughtfully, carefully putting his mug on the grass - next to the backpack, and straightening up.

\- Come on, Remus, - panted Sirius, moving under James as aggressively as he could. - Snivellus is as stupid as it gets, - he gave another desperate strike to James. - Even more stupid than this sack of potatoes I cannot get off myself.

\- He does study hard, - said Peter, taking a sit next to Remus and looking at him with a vague, almost cowardly concern. He was the only one to notice his anxiety, but did not know what to do about it.

\- One has to compensate for being such a hopeless idiot, - James landed a punch at the chest he was sitting on. Sirius howled in his helplessness, stretching his hands across the green grass and accepting his defeat.

\- Why are we talking about Snivellus? - quietly asked Pettigrew, assuming the question might give Remus a chance to speak up about whatever was keeping him so worried.

Lupin has made a choice. He has been in the agonising process of making the choice for every minute of the two years he had known Sirius, James and Peter. Each time it seemed to him that he had finally came up with a decision, he could not bring himself to act accordingly.

\- So, - he said slowly, making the word last longer than needed.

\- You saw how he stood there watching Rabastan mess with his girlfriend, - James answered Peter's question, ignoring Remus. - That was pathetic!

\- It was, - Peter smiled, as if apologising, although he did not agree with his friend. He thought that Severus was not weak, but respectful and peaceful, not rushing to insert himself into a questionable situation. He waited for the so called girlfriend to deal with her trouble on her own before forcing on a rescue, which even he, Peter, could tell wouldn't have been something Lien Lestrange would have appreciated.

As James smiled back to Peter, Sirius made use of his distraction and pulled himself up, shaking his balance. Potter slid off with a surprised exclamation, but quickly got himself together and attacked Sirius back. Black, now prepared for one, had him on his back before he could do anything.

Remus sat down on the ground, took his almost empty mug and took a sip, observing James and Sirius loudly laugh and fight each other, rolling all over the place. The decisiveness he has been building up from early morning was collapsing. He sighed, longed the cup to Peter, as if he had just said a toast for his health and drank it up.

Pettigrew felt frustrated, as he was also observing James and Sirius behave like selfish children, while Remus was clearly having a hard time.

\- Hey, - he said, thinking that he was shouting.

There was no response. Sirius and James were still knocking each other to the ground with an interchanging success, paying no attention to either Peter or Remus.

\- Lads, - repeated Pettigrew, now loud enough for James to turn his head to him and question what was up. He did not sound very happy about being interrupted and did seem to have some trouble holding his position on top of Sirius, but he did not appear angry either. - Get yourselves over here, - asked Peter.

In the back of his mind it occurred to him that he could not have been sure whether he did Remus a favor or not. Peter glanced at his direction with a caution, almost apologising. Lupin pretended to sip from his empty mug again, giving himself the time to think how exactly to proceed, while James drugged loudly protesting Sirius, just like he would a sack of potatoes.

\- So, - said Remus, holding the mug tightly, - I gave this a lot of thought, and…

\- Of course, - interrupted James, releasing the collar of Black's shirt, - you always give everything a lot of thought, Rem.

\- Arse, - squeezed Sirius through his teeth, begrudgingly taking a sit next to him.

\- I do, don't I? - Remus giggled nervously, putting the mug on the grass and simply trampling his hands. He was shaking. Details that James has failed to notice.

\- Yeah, - said Potter in the same joyful, careless manner, lying back on the grass. He looked in his best friend's direction, smiling openly and with a challenge. - Don't you even think about…

\- Shut up, - cut Black firmly. He was slightly more observant than James, and could now see that Lupin was about to say something that was of high importance to him. - What have you given a lot of thought, Remus?

Sirius had an uncommon, oddly comforting manner of speaking, that betrayed him being uncompromising, demanding his answers no matter what and promising an unconditional support at the same time. It was this skill that would be a great relief to his friends and lover in the future, and cause him pain of the implied empathy and responsibility.

\- Well, - Remus looked straight up to Sirius, thinking that it would be easier to tell it to him, than to Peter or James. - I am a... - he stopped, struck, as he was yet to pick an articulation for the information he was going to convey.

\- Yes? - gently pushed Sirius, looking back at him.

Tired, Lupin tilted his head backwards, cutting the eye contact.

\- I have lycanthropy. - he said, presenting his condition as a disease, as opposed to an amazing ability of turning into a wolf once a month.

\- You are a werewolf, - calmly said James after a few moments of awkward silence, as if there was a need for clarification. Lupin nodded, turning his sight back on Sirius, and now looking very attentively on the faces of his friends, one by one, waiting for their reaction.

\- Shut up, - cut Sirius again, a bit irritated, resuming the tension James blew away with his intelligent observation. Sirius has been suspecting that Lupin was a special case for a few weeks by now. He has been hoping Remus will trust him enough to tell that himself, yet he had no idea what he was going to say in response.

\- What's the matter with you? - Potter straightened up, throwing a handful of stones, grass and soil on Sirius. He did have a feeling this was not supposed to be about him. Faintly, in the very back of his exceptional mind. Sirius ignored him, looking attentively in Lupin's direction, right above his shoulder.

\- What about your transformations? - asked Peter. Remus looked at him, questioningly raising his eyebrows. Lycanthropy was essentially the transformations with some side effects, and the inquiry at first did not make any sense. - How come no one ever noticed? - clarified Peter.

\- I am taken to Shrieking Shack every full moon, - explained Remus. He did not have the right or the authority to disclose that technical detail to anyone at all. - Through the Whomping Willow. - he continued with full knowledge of having committed a violation of an important school rule, made very specially for him.

\- You mean they lock you up in there? - asked James, finally kicking into the conversation.

\- Well, - said Remus slowly, who has never thought of the arrangement as locking him up. - Yes.

\- What does a werewolf do in a shack? - James threw in a new question for discussion after another short, awkward silence, heavy with Sirius still trying to think of what to say. He had a sigh, stretched to grab Lupin's left hand and rolled up the sleeves of his robes and shirt up at once, before Remus could do anything to stop him.

\- Here, - exhaled Black, displaying deep, large scars of cuts and bites, of different colors, shapes and depth on Lupin's forearm. A complicated, painful looking web of scars, hardly leaving any of his pale skin visible. - This is what a werewolf does in a shack.

Remus pulled his hand back, rolling the sleeves down. This was not the direction he was intending for this conversation to take. He was as worried and scared as before, still not having had heard anything about what his friends thought regarding his lycanthropy.

\- I noticed this morning, - said Sirius. Lupin shrugged with a half-hearted smile. He was careful not to expose his tormented flesh to anyone that was not madam Pomfrey.

\- We should do something, - said Pettigrew with a determination unusual for his timid character. He could almost physically feel the phantom pain in his own arm and that made him feel responsible for Remus again.

\- The most brilliant thought you had all day, Peter, - teased James, who although seemed to have joined the talk, was not handling the seriousness of what Remus has revealed too well.

\- I mean it, James, - pushed Peter, turning his sight to Potter. - We should…

Remus smiled at him, silently and politely asking to stop. Pettigrew complied.

\- How do you do at home? - asked Sirius. He sounded interested and genuinely concerned.

\- We moved to the… to a house with a large garden, - said Lupin quietly, anxiously waiting for an actual reaction to his condition. - I am silenced and allowed to run around.

\- We'll do that, - decided James easily. - We'll get you to Sprout's garden or something.

\- Guys, - said Remus louder than he had anticipated, exhausted from what he considered to be pointless inquiries and promises. His hands were shaking and he was absolutely in no position to help it. His voice sounded foreign, sharp and unnatural. His friends turned towards him, worried and nervous themselves. - Now that you know, - he took a deep, long breath, approaching the hardest part of the confession, - I would understand it if you decide to…

\- Cut the rubbish, Moony, - interrupted Sirius before Lupin could come up with an appropriate verb, and barked, releasing the tension for good.

\- What? - Remus still could not recognise his voice. Sirius grabbed his scarred arm again and drugged him over, laughing and relieved. That was it. There was nothing to say about Remus being a werewolf, as that did not change a single thing about Remus or their friendship.

\- Moony, - repeated James, as if flavoring the word. - I like it.

\- Nothing is going to change, comrade, - promised Black with a reassuring smile, lying back in the grass and making him fall with him. Lupin laughed, loudly exhaling the fear he has been holding.

\- Except for how we are going to call you from now on, - James wayed in, thinking whether to take the opportunity of climbing up on Sirius or not. - What was that about doing something, Peter? - he turned to Pettigrew with a smile that spelled out a mischief-in-planning.

Pettigrew, the last person still sitting and watching over his relaxed friends from above, grinned as the evil mastermind of the genius enterprise he happened to be at the moment.

* * *

Severus had lost sense of the time passed since the moment he had turned to his classmate, carefully observing her beautiful, tan face. It was wrinkled with a well defined, piercing harshness that at first glance did not seem to belong there. On second thought though, Snape had no trouble accepting it, and, furthermore, relating to it. The resentment he carried inside himself was just as strong, if not stronger.

\- I hate Rabastan, - said Lien before he could decide about the question she had just asked. - I hate his idiot brother, I hate my uncle and my granduncle, I hate my mother, I hate my grandfather, - she listed firmly, not betraying any of the emotions she might have been feeling. - All den jævla tiden.

Severus faced the entrance, inhaling with an intention to postpone the answer he had to give.

\- I hate my father sometimes, - he said, sounding rather sad.

\- Does that make you a bad person? - fired Lestrange immediately.

Snape did not know the answer and did not know what to say instead of one. There was another short, awkward silence. Lien jumped up on her feet, angry at herself. She did not open up to people easily, especially not to wizards. This one in particular she barely knew and did not trust.

She trusted the old man from Talgarth who fought in the Second World War the moment she met him, on a subconscious level, as a person who told her about his town, bought her a cup of hot, mint tea with lemon and sugar cubes in exchange for her stories, wished her good fortune on the fourth day of her teenage rebel journey, and, perhaps most importantly, as a person she was never to see again. He was a milestone she hit, learned from and made no real ties to. Snape was her classmate, a person she was to meet every day for at least the next five years, and she has just empowered him with a knowledge about herself, her thoughts and fears. Opening up to him entailed a danger of establishing a solid connection - something children once ripped from their familiar environments for whatever good or bad reasons tend to be wary of.

Watching her walk away once again, Severus made a choice he was going to doubt.

\- Would you like to tell me what happened just now? - he asked. - With… with your cousin.

\- Den blodige idiot, - she answered in a mild, collected intonation that did not betray the profane content of her words. - … He wanted me to do his homework for him, - she informed after a short pause, still standing with her back towards Snape. - I did not.

\- I get that, - Severus ran a hand through his hair, leaning on the wall. He was mostly curious about her mentioning Lucius. - What was about Avery?

\- There are multiple things about Avery. - cut Lien.

She felt weak, admitting to herself that she wanted Snape to listen to her. She wanted to complain about people that had hurt her, and she wanted someone to feel sorry for her.

\- It would take a while, - she shrugged off, in an attempt to protect her long lasting secrets.

Her toes touched the floor, freezing in a step. She wanted to go. Her hormonal blood was boiling, commanding her to run, climb, punch the wall until the thick skin on her knuckles tears, so she can preserve herself. Her softer side, present and silenced for a long time, was now vocal, however, demanding the warmth of another human. Even a Slytherin.

\- Well, - Severus slid down the cold floor, putting his bag behind his head, getting more comfortable.

Lien turned towards him, dropping forward and left to him, just beside his hips. Encouraged, Snape smiled.

Grateful for becoming a part of what Sirius Black would soon start calling the Slytherin gang, and painfully aware what Lily would say if she found out about his affiliations, Severus wanted to know why Lien - a pureblood witch of a clean, respectable line, seemed to hate the gold of her generation.

Lucius has only recently introduced Snape to the circle of his friends and future colleagues, including Alfred Avery and, for whatever reasons, Rabastan Lestrange. Despite the fact that the one person he could call a friend was unapproving - if not scared of them, Severus enjoyed their company. Enjoyed the uncompromising manner in which they communicated their outrageous, extravagant ideas. Enjoyed the power that came to them so naturally. Their decisiveness and intent to act unstoppably.

\- Would you like to spare the first thing about the, - he paused, remembering the exact foreign words Lien had uttered, - Den blodige idiot?

The girl smiled in return, encouraged as well. She shrugged, still unsure what to do. Snape, catching her reassuring expression in the corner of his peripheral vision, decided not to intervene, giving her the time she needed.

\- We had a broom racing contest, - she said finally in a quiet, uncertain voice, - after the Christmas break of our first year. I won, if you remember.

\- You were very good, - confirmed Snape. Lien was ahead of the closest competitor, her cousin Rabastan out of all people, by a steady couple of yards for the last two rounds.

\- It was not fair, to be honest, - continued Lestrange, who had certain issues admitting to a success or accepting a compliment. - I have been riding the broomstick for as long as I can remember myself. The muggleborns never flew in their lives before coming to Hogwarts. Let alone the gentle pureblood asses that never went low enough to get on a broom before.

Severus' eyebrows slightly twitched, as he never realized that the purebloods did not think highly of a broomstick as means of transportation.

\- You still outflew the purebloods who wouldn't shut up about Quidditch, - he observed, alluding to the already then inseparable pair of James Potter and Sirius Black.

Lien took a second observing him, taking the backpack off her shoulder, settling in for the story. It must have been a remarkably pleasant moment in Snape's life when she bit the pair in a game the two have been claiming superiority the whole first semester, she realized.

\- I told Hooch that the idiot's broomstick was enchanted to go fast, - she continued, - because the idiot never dreamt to keep up with me. She believed me, and made Rabastan give up the place.

Snape hummed a confirmation. Their teacher did not just believe Lien's accusation, he remembered. She examined the broomstick in question and verified the claim. That was a slightly less pleasant moment in his life, when Black got promoted to the third best in their year, right behind Potter.

\- That evening Avery sat next to me during dinner, at the Gryffindor table.

Lien inhaled with a loud sound, calming down. She put her hands behind herself, leaning back and letting the forming tears roll right back into her eyes and down her throat.

\- I never saw you at the Flying class after that, - recalled Snape suddenly, straightening up. Lien nodded, still with her head tilted back.

\- I made a letter and signed my mother's signature. That witch has a very easy handwriting to fake. - said Lien, at first a little proud, then stopped for a second. - I really shouldn't be telling any of this to you, Snape.

\- And yet you are, Lestrange, - he observed with a small shrug, lying back. - Don't worry, being stupid is a Gryffindor thing.

Lien smiled, as if substituting for her lack of arguments against Gryffindors being stupid - an opinion she happened to share.

\- He had me fly to Hogsmeade and back, - she said ambiguously, something in her intonation indicating that this was the end of the tale. Her hand folded into a fist and hit the wall, as she realised it was shaking. - And the broomstick he gave me was kicking me off itself… Until it did.

\- You cannot… bring yourself to ride anymore, - concluded Snape, plain and simple.

He sat up and longed his hand to Lien, unsure what to do. He was feeling sorry for her, although he did not yet know whether it constituted stupidity or strength on her part to fabricate a letter to cover up the person that might have scarred her for the rest of her life. This moment in time, high up in the Astronomy tower, scrunched up on a cold stone floor in the fading square of sunlight, all Severus Snape knew was that he felt sorry for his friend.

\- Have you told anyone? - he asked.

Lien shook her head. Snape's fingers landed on her shoulder, hardly touching, stretching uncomfortably to manage that. Her back tensed, straightening up on the touch, as if rejecting his sympathy, and stripping him off all the courage he managed to gather for the gesture.

\- You know, Snape, - she spared the last piece of the confession for the day. - I don't want my dad to find out, or worry about it. But it hurts me that he cannot see I am lying.

\- You are an inconsistent idiot, Lestrange, - declared her classmate, standing up. The moment has been sentimental enough for long enough as far as both of them were concerned.

Lien jumped up on her feet with an effortless, seamless grace, maliciously debating whether to give a hand to help Snape up.

\- Well, you are in Slytherin, - she said, watching him struggle.

\- Your entire family is in Slytherin, - answered Snape with forgiveness, finally getting up and picking his bag from the floor.

\- That's why it sucks to be in Slytherin, - Lien smiled back.

\- Either way, I propose we go to the library and write a paper I won't be embarrassed to put my name on.

Snape walked towards the arc leading to the spiral staircase, a feeling of cowardice weighing on his heart. He could not find it in himself to condemn Rabastan or Avery. Part of him knew they were wrong, malicious and vengeful, praying on a girl too stupid and too self-reliant to ask for help. Part of him was blinded by the glory he was promised and the recognition he was starting to get, willing to oversee the shortcomings and crush all other feelings in exchange. And the second part was bigger.

Lien silently followed him, letting an unformed thought, completely unknown to her before, spin over her mind furiously. She could not recall an instance of her opening up so fundamentally to someone other than her father. She has given up an important part of herself, the belief that she was strong enough to contain her problems and not reveal them upon a simple inquiry.

\- If you tell anything to anyone, - she said just audible enough, - I will break your abnormally large nose.

\- That's the spirit, Lien.

Severus realised he has called her by the first name only after he heard himself doing so; and he had enjoyed her caring enough to threaten him with something she definitely could have executed, but absolutely was not going to, which was a slightly more surprising realisation than the first one.

\- Shut up, - said Lestrange. She got ahead of him in a swift, sharp motion, as if running away.


	14. The dragon heartstring core of Juniper

That year the first snow fell in the second week of December. It came in full force at once, with large flakes spiraling down and strong winds hitting, cementing them across the old, uneven bricks of the Hogwarts castle. It felt a little warmer, as if the whiteness had absorbed some of the frost from the atmosphere.

Lien Lestrange was walking down the Dungeons Hallway, headed to the last of her detention with professor Slughorn. Her mind was outdoors, emerged in the fragmented, blinding scene she could see through a series of high, rectangular windows. In her hands, held close to her face, she had a large mug with hot coffee. The dense steam was warming the air she breathed in, while the strong, distinct smell was nostalgic, reminding her of fierce winters of her childhood.

\- My dear girl! - called Horace Slughorn right when she stopped in front of his classroom. - I almost forgot I should have been expecting you today!

Professor Slughorn rushing down the stairs, borderline comedic in his clumsiness, was rather an amusing scene that drew a light, shallow smile on Lien's lips. He was somewhat overweight, in a bright, patterned vest over glittering, cream-colored shirt. He was radiating good will, an intent to do something praisable for the people around him practically written out in his open, nicer than the usual expression.

\- No need to worry though, - he said, stopping next to Lien. - I will… - he paused, gathering his breath.

Lestrange continued observing him with an explicit impolite curiosity, and could not help her widening smile - a mixture of judgment and surprise. She had mixed feelings about their Potions master. Especially now, after she had the opportunity to spend some one on one time with him, there were a lot of traits Lien could appreciate in the teacher of her most hated subject, whilst affirming all the prejudice and arrogance she had seen him demonstrate prior.

\- ...clean up myself, - finished Professor Slughorn. - With magic. - He clarified, opening the door to his classroom with a smooth, small wave of his wand directed towards the handle. Lien shrugged with a little disappointment, as she missed him pronounce the spell in between. Or, what was also possible, has witnessed another wizard proficient with non-verbal spells. The second was a little harder on her ego. - Go on, my girl, get an early dinner...

\- I'd like to go through with the detention, - interrupted Lien with a bit of confrontation in her voice. She was not about to accept a hand out for whatever reason. - Sir, - she added milder, - if that's alright.

\- There is no need, - said Slughorn with patience and forgiveness, pushing the door and stepping in. As he smiled, he caught himself realizing that, to an extent and with a lot of reservations, of course, he was getting to like the Lestrange girl. - I do not have the time tonight, really…

\- If you let me use magic, Professor, it will be less than a minute, - said Lien with confidence. - I know a spell, - she added, less sure, pulling the strap of the backpack higher on her shoulder. - I think.

Slughorn donated a few seconds of his time - the preciousness of which turned out to be an inverse function to his interest in his student, to give her a long, assessing gase over his shoulder. Lien's clothes were, as always, worn out and untidy. Compared to him, she seemed small and fragile. However, it was quite evident that in a couple of years she'll grow taller and stronger. If pressed hard enough, Horace would have admitted that she had all the potential to surpass him in magical power as well. What he was not so sure of was whether she had the right character or inclinations to develop those skills, and whether it would make her happy.

\- Very well, then, - Slughorn shrugged, his eyebrows raising, doubtful of Lien being able to conjure a spell at all. - Please, - he stepped deeper into the classroom to allow Lien a passage, gesturing with a mild, hardly intentional sarcasm.

\- Sir, - Lestrange nodded in response.

She walked in, sipping in the coffee before putting the mug on top of one of the desks to her left. Well, her senses conditioned in small cheap shops of Oslo wouldn't go so far as to call the dark liquid concocted by the Hogwarts elves coffee. It was not as popular amongst the British wizards, so there would only be one or two teapots at the breakfast, the contents of which weren't strong or tasteful enough. Lestrange, however, almost never failed to collect a thermos full of coffee, gratefully scraping off all the crumbs of things that reminded her of the land she grew up in.

Dropping the backpack on one of the chairs near her, Lien produced her wand from its side pocket.

\- Lestrange, - gasped Professor Slughorn, surprised. His hand on an instinctive level jolting towards the wand, wanting to touch it, feel its texture. - That's… - Horace collected himself, pulling back his hand, and continued without the air of awe he had just now. - I could swear I have seen it before!

Lien shrugged the comment off, concentrating on the spell she promised to perform.

The wand Lien Lestrange owned was of common, simple structure at the first sight, yet unique in an odd way. She came to acquire it when she was eight, in the most accidental manner, in a workshop hidden between a small, luminous muggle cafe and a narrow, sketchy tattoo parlour. Perhaps the random and spontaneous nature of the transaction was what enabled her to accept her wand after she came to Britain and found herself dissociating with the magical world.

The core of the wand was dragon heartstring, defining the owner as harsh, uncompromising, full of fighting spirit. The wood was juniper, with a couple of scratches on the surface near the handle. Juniper is an evergreen, recalled Professor Slughorn, rare material for a wand. Standing strong against the environment, the juniper tree often presents with contorted branches. That is a wander with twists and turns, leading to a soft endpoint, still letting one be true to themselves, with their integrity intact. Its nature is more static and stable than other trees prone to seasonal changes, rendering it an unconventional medium for something as dynamic as magic.

The wand was thin, straight and with a sharp tip; 12 inches long, an exact replica of the one her father owned ever since he was eligible. That similarity was what struck Slughorn with an acute feeling of deja vu, complicated by the fact that there were also subtle, hard to spot differences between the two.

The more obvious difference was hair-thin metal rings tightly hooping the base of Lien's wand in uneven coils, hidden under her hand. The first one was the widest, made from copper. If one were to inspect it, he would notice stains of rust. Part of that was neglect, part – heritage of the ancient muggle culture it was made in. The second one was pale and elegant, with a legible personality. It too had small, darker lines on its surface, a reaction between silver and human skin. The third was made from titanium, bold and fresh.

The less obvious one was the pebble stone hidden in the base of Lien's wand, left there either due to carelessness of the master who made it, or a deliberate and symbolic choice, to enhance the performance.

\- Skurge, - Lien whispered with an off pronunciation, exhaling the last vowel with an emphasys, as if the word was foreign. In a moment's hesitation, she drew a small, inaccurate shamrock with the tip of her wand in the general direction of the blackboard. Soft, turquoise light appeared and expanded, cleaning up the dirty cauldrons.

Slughorn smiled, both impressed and critical of her choice. The spell his subpar student chose to demonstrate was a complicated one for her age, designed to clean up the mess after ghosts and other immaterial beings, more than good enough for actual tangible dirt. The Potions master was intrigued, although his first assumption was that Skurge must have been the only relevant charm Lien knew, as opposed to her showing off her skills.

\- That's quite alright, my girl, - he said peacefully, his soft hand reassuringly landing on Lien's shoulder. Lestrange, about to conjure up a levitation charm to put things away, slid the wand into the pocket of her robes without a protest. She was both not fond of practicing magic, and it has now occurred to her that she had been rather impolite to her professor earlier.

\- How about I invite you for a cup of tea?, - offered Professor Slughorn, finishing up the work with one gracious cut of his own wand across the air.

\- I have coffee, - Lien said, picking up her mug and backpack, with no compromise at first. It was not her usual experience that a wizard who appeared caring towards her was indeed such. - But sure, - she nodded in a second, deciding that the harm in being impolite for longer was more than suffering through a short, unimportant conversation.

\- I have some great ice cream! - promised her professor, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Lien Lestrange managed to capture his attention through the recent event. Far from being a Slug club material, she still appeared an interesting companion, worth of swapping a regular night out at the Three Broomsticks for a conversation with.

\- I… - Lien paused. She had a genuine commitment preventing her from eating ice cream - a self-inflicted restriction that most people found challenging to conceptualise. - If that's alright, - she started over, following after Slughorn, - I'll just do the tea.

\- Well, - he shrugged, confused but uninterested in the reasoning. - I have some cookies and berries, too!

Lestrange nodded once again, finishing up her coffee on the move and suppressing a sigh of disappointment, as she had planned to start a new chapter in one of her muggle books tonight. She dropped the now empty mug into the pocket of her robes, together with the wand. The mug swiftly collapsed into a small square with clean edges, without any considerable effort on Lien's part.

\- Here, my dear girl, - said Slughorn, unlocking the door to his quarters with a simple, physical key he had produced from the small, tight pocket of his vest. It fit in about half of his palm, almost like a toy, with a glittering shine indicating that the source material could have been real gold. Which, considering Horace Slughorn's weakness for material goods, was of a high probability. - Go ahead.

Lien stepped into the hall, marginally curious about its contents. The room was both sterile clean and incredibly busy. All the visible surface was covered with various meaningless items, primarily trophies and souvenirs. Most were animate, radiating negativity towards the new person entering their habitat.

\- Please, please, - called Slughorn, nodding on one of the armchairs he had in the hallway. - Have a seat.

Sinking into the second armchair himself, the Potion's master made an elongated, spiraling motion above the coffee table in between his armchairs, summoning the promised tea and desserts from the kitchen.

\- Thank you, - mumbled Lien with an uncertainty. She was feeling awkward, out of place, more so than during the detentions. - Sir.

Following the beautiful ceramic cups of tea - depressingly similar to the set her mother had at the Lestrange manor, float in through the wall and graciously land on the table, Lien took the place she was offered. The armchair was warm and deep, taking the shape of her body as she sat down. So, instead of embracing the comfort, the girl put her legs up the seat, folding them in front of herself, such that her knees would press against the armbraces, lifting her slightly above the absorbing softness.

\- So, Ms. Lestrange, - said Slughorn, smiling sweetly, and picking up the cookie right off the passing platter. Remembering that Professor McGonnagal had asked him to keep an eye on the girl, he continued with a little more determination and a sense of direction. - How has this year been for you?

\- It's been alright, - assured Lien with a disinterested shrug. What she did next was not malintended at all. Reciprocating a question was something she'd do more or less as a reflex, as she was an open collocutor, taking an interest in learning about others. - How about you, sir?

\- Well, - smilled Slughorn, startled. - It has been quite a delight, really! Many of your colleagues have positively surprised me, dear Ms. Lestrange, and you would be in their number as well...

Lien gently squeezed the handle of the pretty little cup and hurried to have a sip of the hot tea, proceeding a call for partaking in the sweets as well. The boiling temperature of the beverage hurt, but the taste, unlike that of the coffee, was impeccable - lemon and mint. She turned to her right for an instant to catch a glimpse of the wall with old portraits and photographs.

\- Is that?...

Lien tensed, stretching closer to one of the larger black and white photographs. In a simple wooden frame, it hang at about her eye level, almost exactly in the center of the exhibition, depicting four Hogwarts students in their quidditch uniforms. Two of them were stunning blond witches, wearing excessive make-up, tightly hugging each other and winking right at the camera. One was a large, round-faced fellow, holding the Quidditch Cup in his right hand, and wrapping the left across the shoulders of the girls, grinning ear to ear. Their uniforms were of a different shades of gray, suggesting that their team was the one who won in the recent game, claiming the championship against the team of the fourth student. He, standing at about a hands distance from the other three, was who caught Lien's attention.

\- Ah, of course, - enthusiastically picked up professor Slughorn, standing up and approaching the wall. He tapped the glass protecting the photo, with an understanding nod. - That must be a relative of yours, Ms. Lestrange.

The fourth student was a slim, tall teenager, somehow managing to hold his bat and broom in one hand. The broom was a brand new Cleansweep Five, an expensive model that would go on to serve the wizard for a lifetime. His long, dark hair were collected into an accurate, low tail, opening up his beautiful, pale face. His almond shaped eyes were calm and inexpressive.

\- That's my dad, no? - recognized Lien, also getting up and walking up to the wall.

\- Oh, - replied Horace, startled some more. - That explains a lo… - he stopped himself, clearing his throat. Lien's face brightened up, the attention she was allocating for her Potions teacher noticeably increasing, and thus increasing the pressure the teacher felt. - I can see that.

\- Did he lose the game? - smirked Lien, seeing as the happier appearing students had their robes marked with Hufflepuff's Badgers, while her father carried the Serpent.

\- Well, - Slughorn dismissively dropped his hand from the picture, too insecure to casually discuss a hit his House took decades ago, and pointed at a different one, hanging higher up. - Here is him as well, later the same year.

It was a colored card, produced as a result of a professional, staged photoshoot. The lower corner informed "Welsh National, 1952". The familiar long figure was again standing in a slight isolation, next to the second beater of the team - a bearded, older man with muscular arms stretching the thin fabric of their uniform. A large red dragon was drawn in the background, recreating the Welsh flag with the green grass and fogged sky.

\- I didn't know he was this good, - noted Lien with a new acquired respect for her parent.

Horace Slughorn - a sentimental person in general, slid his finger along the earlier photograph, giving into contradicting memories he had about the former student of his.

\- Yes, yes, my dear, - he said. - Your father was such a kind boy when he was here, in Hogwarts. He was truly a remarkable wizard! He was smart and very, very talented, you see? - Professor Slughorn let out a short chuckle, and continued. - Of course, otherwise he wouldn't make it to my wall, - he went quiet for a second, now remembering the problems and the disappointment Euan had caused him not so long after that picture was taken. - It's a shame he never lived up to his potential.

Lien Lestrange didn't roll her eyes on the last claim, although that was her first impulse.

* * *

Satisfied, Algernon Longbottom had been grinning for at least the last half an hour, managing to add more gore to the fainting purple scar cutting across his lips. Doubts about the enterprise he initiated a few months ago were evaporating along each meeting he conducted with his old friend, who was proving to be an even more valuable asset than expected. The time to bring up the said enterprise to higher powers of the Order and obtain their approval was rapidly approaching. In fact, one might argue that there was a pressing deadline, conditioned by the secretive and sensitive nature of the mission they had to set in motion no later than December 28th.

Algie got more comfortable on top of the barrel he was sitting on, pulling the edges of his coat tighter. His wand lay on his knees, directed at the center of the room, prepared to blast a curse once the owner would catch a good moment. Other than that, Longbottom was relaxed, enjoying the commendable performance unfolding in front of him.

Euan Charles Lestrange stood near the opposite wall, holding his wand perpendicular to the plane of his chest, waiting for the targets he drew earlier to manifest. His hair was tied up, with a few loose strands tucked behind his ears. He had on a white slub shirt, buttoned up to his chin and old cargo trousers, tight around his ankles. In combat style hiking boots he stood firm and stiff, dead serious and concentrated on the long, excruciating battle Algernon had him fight since the afternoon. His fingers hurt from the tension exerted upon the wand. He felt one with its heartstring core, each vibration resonating in his bloodstream. In ripples, tangible and real.

His face, paler than normal, wasn't reflective of the storm brewing inside. It was a boiling concoction of rage and rational, mature acceptance. He felt as if he was being evaluated, rather than preparing for the upcoming tribulation, despite the fact that there was a silent, shared understanding that Algernon was nowhere near Euan. Lestrange possessed more raw power, higher speed and was proficient in a wider range of spells, and yet he was the one about to attempt to infiltrate the Death Eaters, and therefore the one who had to learn as much as he could.

Euan took a deep, long breath, not shifting his focus from the eastern wall, where he was expecting to see the final targets for the evening. He could feel the unpleasant scent of his own body, soaked into the semi transparent material of his shirt, now wet and stuck to his back. His trousers weren't sitting right on him from all the sweat and heat he had been radiating, as if they were of the wrong size. Blood was dripping from a narrow, deep scratch on his forehead, hindering the sight of his left eye. His throat felt sore and itching, symptomatic of a pending flu. Overall, Lestrange was rather uncomfortable, anxious for the session to be over.

To his credit, he had also remained aware of the environment, noting how two vague clouds of concentrated fog formed around Algernon and started accelerating towards him. Those were confused boggards - perhaps the most entertaining amongst the dark creatures of Great Britain; and Lestrange couldn't help but smile with a little pride, observing how they were unable to read his mind or soul in order to take the shape of his worst fear.

His right hand slid into the pocket of his trousers, extracting three small daggers. Euan closed his eyes, letting the mental picture of his surroundings - customised and cleared from the clutter, take over the actual one.

\- Confringo! - roared Algernon the incantation, shooting bright orange flames.

The same instant Euan had let go of the daggers, all of which had hit the smallest of the concentric circles in three different locations on the faint, well disguised object hiding in the corner he was staring at. It was an advanced, enhanced dummy, and had - only for a fraction of a second, became visible.

\- Aguamenti, - whispered Lestrange more as a courtesy than as a prerequisite to conjuring a large mass of water. It enveloped the fire threatening to burn him into a crisp, consuming it.

Before Longbottom had time to realise it, he found himself pinned to the wall, just above the barrel, with three fine blades with no handles. Euan smiled at him, straightening up and releasing the hair tie, letting his hair fall into his face, covering the wound. He glided his wand across the air, silencing the low frequency noise that was beating on the barriers of his mind, clouding the judgement throughout the training. That was the closest imitation of being under the constant fire of a legillimence they could think of. Giving it a moment's consideration, Euan turned the noise back up. He wasn't as comfortable functioning under that pressure as he thought he needed to be, so more practice sounded like a good idea.

As Euan walked towards Algernon to release him, exhaustion settled in with a colossal weight on his limbs and extremities. His breathing appeared louder, his chest cage tighter on his lungs. Colors dimmed, items appeared ephemeral, as if in a dream. He pressed one of the blades in between the fingers of his free hand, swallowing down a metallic flavor that hit the base of his tongue.

\- Lestrange! - praised Algernon, content as ever. Impressed, even. This was Euan after over seven hours of continuous, intense simulated battle, testing all the aspects of his magical prowess - perfectly functional and capable to continue if need be.

Longbottom jumped off with an ease surprising for a man of his stature, letting his coat hang from the wall. His large, heavy hand landed on Euan's shoulders, triggering a short cough, and led him towards the soft, maroon couch that appeared in the middle of the room. Lestrange let himself be led, feeling his legs shake with weakness.

\- I'd tear you a new one, - continued Algie, casual and bitter, - if I had it my way.

Euan scoffed, apologising to an extent, as he recognised the implied compliment in the threat. His friend was mad at him - as he had every right to be, and, seeing him demonstrate the strength fitting right into the top 5th percentile of the modern British wizards, Algernon had his rage renewed. Things he had lost in the war would pop into the forefront of his honest, blunt mind, stinging. At the same time, Algie didn't lack an appreciation for the acquired powerful and promising ally.

\- Here, little one, - he said, dropping down on the couch and conjuring a large mug with warm, sweet coffee. - You did well today.

Lestrange smiled with gratitude, accepting the mug and sitting down as well.

\- Have you talked to your big brother yet? - asked Algie.

\- No, - Euan took a large gulp, stretching his legs, - he will approach me himself. In fact, - Euan glanced at his former classmate, trying to catch his attitude. Algernon was attentive, almost grim. - I estimate Reuben will attempt to recruit me at least two more times before giving up.

Longbottom shrugged, trusting Euan knew what he was doing.

\- Don't forget to clean up your clothes, mate, - he reminded simply before apparating.


	15. On appeals of aggression

_**Warning:**_ _this chapter includes a non-consensual sexual encounter. There will be another warning before the encounter itself, in case you want to read the other parts of the chapter. Otherwise, please, proceed to the end of the chapter for a short recap._

Euan felt bicep muscles stretch on his left leg as he powered over the last of the stairs leading to the corridor his bedroom was located in. Each step echoed with a turbulence of unpleasant sensations, scratching across the bones, hitting his very skeleton. He noted, pleased with himself, that his face didn't twitch in the slightest to reflect the pain, maintaining an impression of a perfect well being.

He continued, in a slow, measured pace, debating whether to order Jingie to prepare him dinner, or just figure something out himself. It was about two in the morning, and, if the house elf was asleep - which was probably the case, Euan thought that he didn't really want to inconvenience the subjugated creature. It was concerning that the question came to his mind in the first place: with each training in preparation for the mission he was compelled to sign up for a few months ago, Lestrange found it harder and harder to not abuse his power and entitlements, to remain true to his normal self.

It was not common, or an agreed upon knowledge, but combat was something Euan had excelled at a long time ago through conscious, consistent effort. It was, of course, a prerequisite to him mastering the guts to pursue his then wobbling dream of becoming a muggle geologist. Dropping out of Hogwarts at sixteen, Lestrange had been practicing his offensive and defensive spells with a religious discipline. Coupled with natural athleticism and intuition, it had sculpted him into a fine, sought after wizard, able to fend for himself most of the time.

Proper and rigorous, those trainings, compared to what he had subjected himself in the recent months, now appeared nothing more than a simple routine to keep in shape. Those drained him, stretched his willpower thinner than he'd expect to be possible, and made him confident. What Algernon had put together, compiling his own experiences into a crash course, often left Euan borderline suicidal. Lost. He didn't feel more confident. He felt pushed far, by the limit, so deep to the ground that all he was left with was nothing but the pure animalistic core. His appetite for violence, thus, was stirred up, for now manifesting in inconsiderate attitude towards Jingie.

Stopping in front of the door, Euan put his right hand in his pocket, ready to draw the wand; just in case if Jehanne Lestrange was up and not in the best mood. Walking in, he felt a distinct smell of swott malt whiskey. Ignoring it, he went straight to the panel bed he had been sharing with the aging, likely intoxicated woman he was married to. He set down, loosening the laces on his boots, still contemplating what to do for dinner.

\- It's you, you useless shit, isn't it?! - Jane Crabbe Lestrange tossed a rhetoric disjunctive, strolling out of her dressroom. Her voice was off, not quite present.

This time of the night she was in a tight, cream-colored corset with light purple ribbons holding it together. She was still wearing a full length tulle skirt, more on the translucent side, revealing her white, soft thighs through a deep slash - or was it ripped sometime tonight? Euan didn't linger on the thought. With a detached smile, he concluded that tonight's outing must have had culminated well for his wife. He wasn't hurt, jealous or at all worried about what she had been doing to accomplish that. Their non-consensual union was holding up through their shared acceptance that Jane was not faithful, and that Euan was not concerned with that supposed assault on his honor. He saw the silent agreement as him being understanding, allowing his wife to search for her happiness. While Jane saw that as neglect, a lack of appreciation of her value and place in his life.

\- I can't bloody stand you, - she informed, stopping near him.

\- I am sorry, - replied Euan absent-mindedly, as if he was the one at fault.

He took off his boots and socks, and threw them towards the door. His feet touched the carpet on the ground, as his sight landed on Jane's figure just a centimeter to his left.

Euan spent about ten seconds watching her from close up. Jane's fire red hair was gathered in a large bun at the top of her head. She was struggling to find the pins holding it together and decompose the structure. Small, wet balls of cotton were floating around her in a chaotic motion, attempting to remove the paint from her artificial-looking, browless face. Her waist was feminine and slim enough to fit in Euan's palms. Her round, full breasts were hardened from the cold and the reaction to this sudden inspection of her otherwise disinterested husband. Goosebumps covered her fair skin, rendering her sweet and innocent.

→ **warning**

Lestrange hadn't touched a woman in over thirteen years. That wasn't difficult until just now; until a short, well known convulsion of pain with the size of a needle head pierced his lower stomach, giving his appetite the final whip. His hands clawed into the mattress, in a sole attempt to suppress the long forgotten lust. Adrenaline tensed up in Euan's muscles, desire filling him - from toes to the farthest corner of mind, propelling all his morals and principles out. Raw urge to smash and tear, remaining from the hours long battle he had been waging that day, inflamed in his sore chest.

Silently standing up, Lesrange locked his hand around Jane's throat with an almost gentle, casual ease and, before she understood what had happened, pushed her to a side, towards the wall. The wet cotton balls, now dirty with powder, lipstick and mascara, dropped at their feet.

Jane's hair bun, still holding up with the few pins, buffered a little space for her head. Euan leaned closer, breathing at her face. There was not enough light or willingness to read her expression, but Lestrange still could tell that she was red from earlier, now quickly paling. With the first wave of excitement wearing off, a frustration settled in, and Euan - with a non trivial concern, articulated that what just happened was real, and he was the perpetrator in the situation.

Jane inhaled, slightly separating her lips in preparation for a kiss the arrangement was unambiguously suggestive of. However, kissing being one of the more intimate of the interactions, Euan couldn't bring himself to do that. Instead he managed to place his thin, long fingers in between her legs, and all the way through the warm, saturated fabric of her underwear. She was well groomed, he discovered with a pleasant surprise, sliding into her with a clear knowledge of what to do. His left hand loosened the grip, allowing Jane some freedom.

\- Lestrange?! - she demanded, still paralised with a conflicting anticipation of what was to come after.

Something was between Euan's fingertips and her flesh, putting him off.

\- Tøs, - he exhaled with mild, disingenuous disappointment, distancing.

Lestrange took his hand off, reluctantly raising it to the level of his eyes. His index finger had some thick, slimy liquid on it, from the nail to the phalanx, dripping down to his knuckles. Its smell was stronger than that of alcohol rigging from Jane, and somehow even less appealing.

Contracting under Euan's concentrated, assessing stare, for the second time in their marriage, Jane was afraid for her life. For once her pathological cheating was out in the open, evident and tangible. Tremble lashed through her softening body as Euan held his hand higher up, appearing about to slap her. Instead he carefully scraped across the bones of her corset, cleaning another man's cum off.

Pins fell from Jane's fire red hair, allowing Euan to press her flat against the wall. His hand appeared on Jane's shoulder, with the thumb resting on her neck, and it felt to her as if she was bearing all his weight. Lestrange, indeed, felt himself slowly getting heavier, his vision field narrowing, while his heart went faster almost at once, agitating him. He inhaled, pausing to reclaim something that belonged to him; his self-control was instantiated once again, smashing down the instincts and allowing for a plan to surface.

\- We are married, Jehanne, - he said just audible enough, letting Jane panic with multiple possible meanings of the statement.

Squeezed in between a solid stone structure and a potent man about to hurt her, unable to recall where she had left her short crooked wand, Jane was rapidly sobering up. She was recalling the law on marital rape - or rather the lack of it. During her career as a first order trauma healer, she had seen and cured countless women and children. Domestic violence in general wasn't recognized in the criminal code of wizarding Britain in any capacity whatsoever, which was now a degradingly relevant shortcoming.

\- What do you wa...

Next instant she found herself placed on the decorative silk covering their shared bed, and caught the unfamiliar, unexpected shine of her husband's juniper green eyes, grinning with an unmistakable expression of danger.

A feeling of loss coiled his throat, smashing in the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Euan was a strong wizard, balancing at the verge of crumbling, but, what was perhaps the worst, tonight he had better realized his position. If this was going to be the outlet, he thought, he didn't mind the price.

Drop rolled down his face, along the nose, landing on Jane's exposed collar bone. Euan inhaled, and, letting his long hair coat half of his face, put his palm on the wet mark, pressing her down.

Jane exhaled, scared and powerless, her sight pinned at the smooth ceiling. Fire shimmering on the tubes of the golden chandelier was dimmed down, illuminating just enough to recognize minor details, so the other senses were her window to the world. Her husband's shoulders, covered under the white slub of his semi transparent shirt, seemed wider than before.

Senses of touch, hearing, taste and smell.

Euan was present and rational, a complete master of his mind. He was not overridden by hormones as Jane feared him to be. Not anymore. Rather calculating, he took his time, estimating the cost of each possible movement he could undertake to accomplish the task of undoing his belt.

Jane felt the unusual fabric of his coffee colored trousers brushing against her knee through the tulle of her gown: rough, cheap material, irritating her skin and drawing attention. Euan shifted his center of weight, lifting his stomach up, and pressing harder on Jane's shoulders. She put her hands on his waist - with enormous care and hesitation, in an attempt to claim some autonomous participation.

She felt a strand of Euan's hair land on her forehead, and heard the ring of something metallic hitting the stone floor. Something soft and cold ran across her hip bone in a fast, abrupt motion, touching for her underwear.

\- Lestrange, wait…

There was no hint of patience in him. His hand moved from Jane's collarbone to her face, silencing her, covering her mouth, his wrist resting on her chin, as he pulled the intricate laced strap of Jane's pants. His knee hit her thigh, lifting her to undress. Short, gentle blow of air hit Jane's face in response to her earlier plea, letting her guess whether her husband said something or just exhaled, ignoring her once again.

She tried to inhale, and couldn't: from the sides, it was her corset that was forcing her ribs closer together; on her chest and stomach it was the weight of the man above her, heavier than she thought he'd be. Jane's hands - tensed up and more assertive, had moved to Euan's solar plexus, pushing him away with none to negative success. Occupied with locating her opening - now that they were laying down and anatomies were slightly shifted, Euan didn't even appear to notice those attempts until she got tired and submitted to the circumstances.

Jane Lestrange laid under her husband for as long as it took. Suffocating, restrained, quiet, helpless, and confused.

It wasn't until the abrupt, sharp pain penetrated her and she let out an oddly liberating scream that she believed she was awake and conscious. It was the lack of that stinging, mind-clouding feeling that pushed Jehanne over the edge and towards the immoral lifestyle she had indulged in one quarter through her miserable marriage.

Euan was hard as he lowered deeper. Warmer. And, for some damn reason, also careful to limit the surface of their contact area. Jane felt her eyeballs roll back, a pleasureful moan at the tip of her tongue. She couldn't recall another instance of feeling a human so close, so scorching hot before. She herself was ice cold, and the contrast was new, pleasant and arousing as hell.

Euan didn't move more than he needed to. This wasn't so much about bonding or pleasure for him, as it was about a satisfaction. In fact, he would feel as if he was cheating if the interaction went an inch further than was required for the relief he craved. He was executing a well defined, rapid sequence, straight from the start. In and out. Crest and trough.

This was not Jane's usual experience. She wasn't accustomed to being handled. Her numerous encounters with wizards willing to compromise their puritanical values for the forbidden premarital sex - who tended to be adolescents just out of school, timid, insecure, clueless of what to do - relied on her performance. Their faces alternated in front of Jane, and none would fit on her lawful spouse's intimidating figure. Them she saw from above, holding their manhood and all the power in between her thighs. Teasing them for hours at a time, learning to get high from watching their mushy pink features twitch under her.

Gradually her breathing accelerated, growing louder over her own thoughts. Humiliation aside, Jane relaxed, synching with Euan's speed and accepting his domination. Her hands rose, longing to touch the skin stretched across the slightly protruding bones, attempting to claim voluntary participation one more time.

This was not how Euan remembered it either. This woman he felt no connection with, coloring the intercourse impersonal, fictional, wrong. His memories were crisp, of one person he was tied to heart and soul. Some bitter, acidic flavor appeared in his mouth, cutting the fun short, turning him even more impatient to get it over with.

Faster he went, the more it hurt, the more emancipated Jane felt. Gasping in all the air her constrained lungs could contain, she bit on Euan's hand that was still covering her mouth, silencing. Lestrange didn't seem to mind the playful gesture. He peacefully placed his hand a little higher, on Jane's forehead, securing her even firmer.

For a second there, when about to climax, Euan lost control. His gifted, talented mind got unleashed, consuming in that one second all the thoughts and memories Jane thought she had for herself. Blurred image of a young woman with colorful, thick, worm-like locks of hair, bronze skin and large, bug-shaped earrings flashed in Jane's subconscious and disappeared, as Euan collected himself and dismantled his grip on her mind.

Infuriated and insulted, Jane jolted, struggling to get away. Her sharp nails dug into the space between Euan's lower ribs, piercing through his shirt and drawing a bit of blood. Her legs - stretched until now, bent across his torso, embracing him, claiming as her own. She tried to lift herself up, twist Euan and rotate him into below her - as she was used to; but all she managed was a depressed, desperate groan.

\- Jeg antar at du... - whispered Lestrange, his breathing heavy and fragmented. - ... for prevensjon, - he exhaled, loosening up, as Jane failed to manipulate him. His arms weakened and he fell on her, unable to hold up.

Jane lied back, defeated. Euan's nose pressed on her neck, near the ear, as he came with a prolonged, quite hiss. He was not proud to admit, but part of him - the smallest, the most sluggish part, was euphoric about the happened. Owning a person in the most casual, brutal way, just because he wanted to and just because he could… It felt good. It also happened to be a trait he was certain he'd find useful in the foreseeable future.

\- Get off of me, - demanded Jane. Her voice was low, deteriorated to a point of being unrecognisable. The first few seconds she didn't understand she was the one who said that - she wasn't sure she wanted Euan to get off her at al.

Lestrange disengaged without further inquiries. Jane, however, clenched to him, tightening her legs as hard as she could and dragging him down. She was still unclear about what she felt. A vague fear of the unknown, circulating through her violated, confused organism had taken precedence over all the normal cognitive functions.

\- Hei, - he smiled, as if comforting Jane. He was now gentle, defaulting to his odd compassionate side.

Jane burst with an uncontrollable flow of tears, letting him go. Blinded, her forming terror replaced with a rage, she unlocked her legs and pushed Euan away. Unoffended, he lifted himself up, carefully sliding out of her hold, and dropped on his half of the bed.

For a few moments, Jane was contemplating punching her husband, whom she had been exposed to from a new, undeniably appealing perspective. He was rough and commending this night, and Jane had to admit that she felt reassured, protected and comfortable as a result. She wished she could have given into the feeling, trusted the man that had just defiled her. Coming to her senses, she remembered that she was a respectable witch, with no indecent predispositions, and thought of locating her wand in order to jinx her husband instead of hitting or thinking about him.

Euan stretched on the cold, enveloping silk cover, both tired and anxious. The major part of him was disgusted, although not surprised. For with the magic coursing down his veins he inherited a lot of the same stuff that composed his parents. For better or for worse. He wanted to believe he was set up to do what he did, despite knowing deep down inside, he wasn't defined by his insides and experiences any more than he was defined by his free choices.

\- Lestrange! - cried out Jane, sobbing.

She was swinging in between multiple interpretations of her current state, and, as seconds went, distancing her from the ache pulsating in her abdomen, she was more and more embarrassed. Regret barred her airways in a large lump, a consuming wish to rewind time, fix things when it was still possible wrapping her.

Jehanne Crabbe Lestrange was seventeen when she was informed she was promised to a man with an unfavorable reputation preceding him. She was a child then, excited at first, eager to fall in love. She soon came to hate her husband's soft politeness, detached from her as a form of respect, enabling her to do whatever the hell she wanted, but depriving her of a real, meaningful relationship for life. She was pissed off to be reminded after a decade he could have been so threatening, so alive, so hot, so desirable.

\- Du skal være takknemlig for at jeg holdt igjen. - said Euan with a sad smirk, as if not realizing he spoke in a foreign language.

Without another word, he stood up, fully undressing. When Jane turned towards him, he already had a towel tied around his waist. Standing in front of the window, in the light of the rising sun, he was the most naked Jane has ever seen him, and sweaty.

\- I am sorry, Jehanne.

As he walked out the room, Jane curled up on the bed, letting tears roll with an infuriating realisation that she wasn't upset about being taken against her will. In the end, she regretted exactly one thing. She regretted that she had been so successful in medicating her fertility.

**Recap: **Euan Lestrange forces himself on his wife Jehanne. There is some attraction between them. It is revealed that Jane has been cheating on him on a regular basis, and that Euan hasn't touched a woman in thirteen years. It is implied that he had a pleasant sexual encounter with another person before. Euan leaves the room and apologizes. Jehanne has regrets about being on birth control.


	16. Crossing a line

Standing under the large, burning hot drops of the shower, Euan had lost all sense of time. He felt his insides squeeze, sprawling into a tight knot. It was a pleasant, reassuring pressure, lifting just in an instant; a comforting indication that he wasn't at peace with what he had done. His knees were bent from the accumulated weakness in his frame and the surrounding warmth. He even had to concentrate to breathe properly, or else it felt that the steam-filled air was not enough.

Washing the sweat off his skin - red from the high temperature in the bathroom, Euan didn't feel cleaner. He felt wrong, helpless, as if it was him who was violated and raped. Yet he wasn't certain he wasn't going to take advantage of his spouse again - now that he was reminded of how fantastic sex could be.

Extending his right arm out of the falling shower, composing the mental state to walk out of it and back into the world, he folded his hand into a fist. His knuckles turned white, his fingernails sunk into his palm, containing the convulsion about to hit his entire body.

Euan inhaled, slow and with flavor, and turned down the water. The downed silence scared him, as all his concerns and fears were now vocal, at the forefront of his mind, twirling into a crippling anxiety. He didn't know how to tame a single one of those apprehensions - vague and undefined, inflated to unmanageable volumes.

Longing for the fresh towel that somehow had materialized on the rail near the shower compartment, Euan watched his fist loosen. Blue, bloated veins webbed the back of his hand, giving it an unreal glow in the light of the morning sun. He inhaled, latching on to the thought that had the most potential to ground him, empower to tolerate his environment and the person he was becoming.

It was, of course, the thought of his child. Lestrange wondered if she was safe, and, more broadly, if she was subject to an education that would help her reach her full potential. He wondered what would happen to her if he were to fail the hot-headed enterprise he was so arrogant to get on board with. If his daughter had her first crush, if she continued to read up on calculus, if she… Exhaling, Euan tied the towel around his waist, deriving a certain pleasure from the contrasting chill and the mild pain each movement was causing him.

Before he had a second to assess how late it was, and whether there was still time to catch some sleep, a sharp exclamation, accompanied with an inadequate attempt to whistle, cut through his ears.

\- The best of mornings, little brother!

Coming up to the basin, Euan stopped, demonstrating irrational respect to his elder cousin, as he was taught to. Reuben Lestrange was executing his rigorous morning routine, wearing a long, glittering, gold-colored gown. He was a little shorter, with slouching shoulders. His coal hair - also straight and long, was tied into a loose tail, opening his round face.

\- Good morning, - greeted Euan, calm but audible.

He observed himself straighten up and his head drop a little, as if about to bow. Their familial hierarchy was strong, he had to admit, profoundly embedded into his subconscious since childhood.

\- I am relieved, Euan, - informed Reuben without a prompt, grimacing at his reflection in the mirror as he inspected the impeccable condition of his teeth. - I truly am, darling. - he continued, almost smiling. He considered patting Euan's shoulder for a job well done, but decided against it, - I wasn't sure if you knew where to put it.

Euan stepped back, lost for an immediate reaction. He wasn't expecting or had an interest in such an intimate conversation. He ignored the disguised compliment, gathering half of his hair into a strand and pressing it between his palms to squeeze out the water.

\- We must agree, though, that you weren't able to properly please your lady, - went on Reuben, just as casual as before. He was now covering his forehead with fine, yellowish cream, carefully spreading it across in a thin layer. - She was awfully quiet, wasn't she?

Getting more curious where this sudden stream of observations was going, Euan thought it might benefit his cause if he were to get offended by the implied insults to himself and his wife. He could have used the occasion to lose his mind a little, demonstrate some destructive power he was quite certain the Death Eaters were in the business of recruiting for, he continued in his head, remaining silent and tranquil.

\- What do you say if I go in and finish the job?

Euan stretched his toes, enjoying the numbing cold of the ceramic tiles creeping into his bare feet. It pulled on to the muscles in his upper thighs, refreshing. Euan didn't want to respond to the increasingly explicit remarks, as was the polite thing to do in the situation. He wanted to get Reuben to a tipping point of frustration, and be reminded of the resentment he had for his little cousin when they were much younger. Doing so required more shared time, so Euan longed for his toothbrush - one of the two in a tall, smooth glass cup left to the basin, anchoring for at least a few more minutes.

\- Oh, Euan, relax, - soon gave in Reuben, letting out a short, nervous laughter. - Well, granted, I can hardly ever tell if you are relaxed or not… Either way, there is no need to concern yourself with a woman's needs!

\- Sure, - agreed Euan without much thought, applying fluoride enriched mint paste to the plastic head of the brush.

\- A man must keep his woman under tight control, darling, - declared Reuben, encouraged by the hesitant reply. - Otherwise there will be no order in the house.

Euan spit out, rather loud. Growing up, he shared the opinion his cousin just spewed. Being brought up in such a hateful, precarious model of relationship, only in his late teens Euan came to the understanding that it was not the norm. It was a traumatising, toxic environment he had hoped to never end up perpetuating himself, or be in proximity to ever again. Now, subjected to a praise for seemingly adopting the tradition, Lestrange swallowed down an intense feeling of aversion towards himself, brushing his teeth with a contention, scratching his gums to blood.

\- You have been too… soft with your wife, - smiled Reuben with the left half of his mouth, indulging in the soothing effect the face cream was having on him, - and may I add that the rumour has it she has taken full advantage of your… shall we say, incompetence?

\- No, - said Euan, following another quick spit, and cut with a decisiveness he did not care for. - You may not.

\- Uhm, - echoed Reuben, not too moved. It was always incomprehensible and amusing to him that his cousin and his cousin-in-law had an undeniable respect for each other, and weren't forgiving of the public attempting to offend the other, despite both being rather apathetic about it. Splashing water up his face, Reuben continued with a little more authoritative note. - Where is this coming from, Euan?

\- What - this?

Euan put the toothbrush in its place. Reuben gave the entire cup a side frown, not approving of the items that came from the muggle culture. If he had his way, he would not tolerate anything hand-made in the castle of his ancestors.

\- Well, - shrugged Reuben, seizing the opportunity to get a little condescension out of his system. - I do happen to have a genuine interest in your life. In addition to being rude to your superior just now, little brother, I noticed you were particularly diligent at work the last couple of weeks. I am worried. Is everything alright?

\- I apologise.- Euan yawned somewhat dismissively. He paused, pulling the towel tighter across his waist and forcing the fold more securely. - I am starving. If you'll excuse me, I'll go get myself some breakfast.

\- Of course, - graciously allowed older Lestrange. - Do put on appropriate attire.

Euan nodded without giving an answer, and apparated, in the spirit of being misbehaved and provocative. Reuben, washing the yellow cream off his face, glanced over the vast selection of skin care products he owned. The hippogriff eyeball extract with baked ginger and minced paprika was believed to have rejuvenating properties, and thus was popular amongst the aging witches and wizards despite its remarkable scent and unknown side effects. Opening a bottle of it, Reuben had a deep, heartfelt sigh, as this was the last remaining cosmetic product his late wife left behind a decade ago.

Finishing with the extract, Reuben proceeded to apply a snow white foundation derived from antipodean opaleye scales, harvested while the dragon was only a few hours old, still soft and too weak to resist the painful procedure. Watching the pink of his face get covered, Lestrange senior let his thoughts narrow down on his younger cousin.

For most of his own teenagehood, Reuben watched him get beaten up, showing no promise of lasting too long in the future. Euan was a gentle child, unaware that it was possible for him not to be the one at fault, thus compliant with all the senseless punishment the grown-ups dawned on him often for no other reason than their personal amusement; at times that made Reuben feel empathetic towards Euan. Perhaps not realising it himself, Reuben cared, and wanted to help his brother to snap into the right path, rid him from all the detrimental characteristics, so he'd have a shot at survival in the demanding, elitist, pureblood wizarding world they both were a part of. Of course, his inclinations to intervene and help the little one out were promptly interjected by his own nurturing parents, so Reuben's involvement was mostly limited to an occasional, condescending advice disguised under more torment.

Intrigued from the highly unusual misconduct earlier, Lestrange didn't finish with his normally elaborate makeup and hurried to follow his cousin to the kitchen in the basement of the western wing he knew Euan preferred. It was a large room with small, rectangular windows just below the ceiling, primarily acting as a storage. Temperature regulating charms were embedded in the structure of the walls and into the wood of the shelves and compartments, maintaining the exact temperature required to keep food fresh for months.

Euan was pouring himself a glass of translucent white liquid from a light brown carton box with childish illustrations as his cousin materialised at the door. Recognising the so-called oat milk that had frequented his household since Euan returned from Norway as a strict vegetarian, Reuben exhaled an audible, judgemental hiss.

\- I wonder when you will start eating like a real man, - he said, sitting down at the table.

Euan silently smiled while stretching to put the carton back in its place, flexing his muscular, bruised shoulders. Once it was pointed out to him, he couldn't help but to see the ridiculousness of the notion that consuming other mammal's milk beyond infancy was somehow acceptable, let alone manly. This time again, although presented with an opportunity to voice those thoughts, he decided not to.

\- I didn't catch a second to… put on an appropriate attire, - he said instead, as if excusing himself still being practically naked.

Reuben Lestrange raised an eyebrow, his disapproval of Euan's recent, borderline immature defiance turning into an anxious concern. It was a particularly uncomfortable feeling this time, as, along with being worried for the younger Lestrange embarrassing himself and the family, Reuben thought of him as a real source of danger. Fleeting, vague thought that still put him at an unease.

It was not an unfamiliar feeling, Reuben recognized, infuriated only so slightly. His little brother Euan, emerging as a shining talent soon after entering Hogwarts, was just an increasingly annoying nuisance at first, then an actual problem to deal with. His hurting, gullible mind fell to the wrong ideas of blood traitors and other scum, transforming Euan from a child too scared of his parents to a full blown rebel, conducting his experiment of life with an aggressive determination and no shame.

Straightening up, as if to appear a notch taller, Reuben exhaled once more, with a bit of frustration and regret. He was perhaps more emotionally involved in the demise of his younger cousin, fuller with care towards the idiot than he would have been comfortable to admit.

\- Would you like some, sir? - casually asked Euan, pointing the spoon at the bowl he had in front of him, just next to the glass of milk.

Reuben stretched a little, squinting at the contents of his cousin's breakfast with the lowest of expectations. A cheap mixture of nuts, berries and some pumpkin seeds did not appeal to him at all. He shook his head and snapped his fingers to summon Jingie.

\- Listen, Euan, - he started, crossing his arms across his chest. He didn't rehearse the conversation he was about to start. There was no need. - I have had enough of your outings to the muggle world. You ought to stop acting as a retarded fool…

Euan smiled, appreciative of the fact that "a retarded fool" was the most kind formulation to express their opinion a person of his cousin's set of beliefs could choose.

\- Good morning, Jingie. - he politely greeted the house elf with a larger, happier smile as it materialised with a sharp popping sound.

\- Good morning, dearest master Euan, - bowed down Jingie, gently and quietly, as he was both cautious by nature and a little braver in his beloved master's company. He immediately turned to the wizard that summoned him, bowing deeper. His voice changed the pitch, losing the hint of joviality it had earlier. - What would you like, master Reuben?

\- Get me a cup of lapsang souchong tea, - Lestrange ordered, pronouncing the foreign word with a slight distaste. - And heat up a slice of lamb pie.

Jingie nodded and walked towards the stove to do as told, dreading the prospect of inhaling the notoriously strong, spicy smell of the tea. Watching him move, Euan sniffed, a little uncomfortable, as it seemed that his older cousin was settling in for a talk. He thought he was prepared for it. In fact, he had been instigating it, hoping to direct it into a particular, quite a delicate channel. Yet, his heart was beating a little faster, a little louder, a little more tangible than usual, pumping the character defining feelings of doubt and hopelessness into his entire body.

Euan swallowed the last bits of his dried breakfast, and put the spoon down, letting it ring against the ceramic surface of the plate. He heard himself inhale, a drop of fear seeping out from his stomach into his skin, as he laid his hands on the table, crossing his wrists. One last thing he needed Reuben to do was to give him a reason to snap. He needed it right this very moment, for he could feel the crumbs of courage he had gathered rapidly disintegrating.

\- You know, cousin, - started Reuben, considering another angle; one he had not brought up in a long time, maybe even since the last summer. As if sensing the mild unease getting to his collocutor, Reuben felt more in control, - it pains me to see Gwendolien so uncivilized. Just as your wife would appreciate the experience of being dealt with by a proper man, I bet your little chimp of a daughter would benefit if I were to take the matters into my own...

Euan raised his head so abruptly that a few of his own hair hit him in the face. The next moment he had his hand up, directed at his older brother. His fingers curled in a loose grip as his wand appeared out of nowhere, with a soft purple smoke looping its tip. His lips were slightly parted, exposing a narrow strand of his teeth. He grinned with a relief, for now there was no road back.

\- Do not imply that you may touch my kid, Reuben, - he warned, his voice composed and casual.

A transparent figure of a raven had materialized on Reuben's left shoulder. It had a sharp beak with some metallic shine to it, and large hollow eyes. It opened its right wing - disproportionately large with respect to the rest of its normal-sized body, as Euan gave the bird a slight nod in agreement. It brushed against Reuben's pale face, shadowing most of his head and half of his upper body.

\- What is the meaning of…

Reuben Lestrange was intimidated. He stood up, attempting to brush off the raven from himself, but it only dug its transparent, vaguely outlined claws deeper into his flesh, through the glittering fabric of the gold gown.

\- I said, - interrupted Euan, firmly pairing the stare his cousin was giving him. He slid his wand down, towards the surface of the table, as if preparing a range for a future attack, while continuing. - "Do not imply that you may touch my kid, Reuben."

Lestrange stiffened up, embarrassed at the thought that his house elf was in the same room with them, watching what could escalate to his little brother giving him a hard time. He never realised the exact boundaries of Euan's power and the exact extent of his training, thus, although quite a decent wizard himself, Reuben hadn't felt confident to confront him in a fight; to his most genuine surprise, one seemed to be stirring up. Still, he chose to maintain a pacifistic predisposition to the overall situation.

It took Reuben a few seconds to recognise how outrageous what just happened to him was. For a start, he wasn't used to being addressed by his first name - which did disorient him at first. Even more disorienting and challenging, perhaps, was that he had to confront the fact that he hadn't thought of his younger cousin as a full human being, able to constitute a threat, or worth of respect in a long time.

The bird started radiating a thistle purple shine along its feathers, pulsating with an increasing heat.

\- Listen... - Reuben was about to begin, ignoring it in the final attempts to maintain his image.

Euan swayed his wand upwards, causing the raven to blast with an explosion of raw magic, throwing Reuben at the cupboard near the oven, a couple of yards right to Jingie. The elf folded his old, skeletal body into a deep, polite bow, unnecessarily moving the kettle with boiling water out of the range of a possible accident. He then froze in confusion, unsure if approaching his master was what was expected of him.

Reuben regained his balance without any visible effort. He stepped away from the cupboard, registering in the back of his mind that, although his ears were ringing and he was inhaling smoke and dust, his hair and his general preliminary make up seemed left more or less intact. Reaching into the pocket of his gown, searching for his wand, Reuben next observed that he was impressed, struck with an odd feeling of dejavu.

While older Lestrange thoughtfully tried to analyse the incident and his current state of mind, some articulable, maintainable fear restrained Euan's lungs, as he began to question whether he had overstepped his bounds. He struggled to breathe in.

\- You are bloody good, aren't you? - constituted Reuben, a frustration and anger seeping out into his voice.

Jingie bowed even deeper, more confused. On one hand, he was longing with all his being to reach out to his beloved master Euan, do all in his power to help him out. On the other, he was forced by his magical bonds to stay impartial at a conflict between two members of the family he had to serve.

Reuben walked closer to Euan, recalling the couple of duels he had witnessed between his cousin and those who tried to help him, back when the former was a young adult lost to bad influences. There was no actual battle he could remember - heated arguments gone out of control, for the most part. Yet, even those encounters were enough to plant a caution deep into his subconscious.

Euan quietly put his wand down just as another utensil, as if it was something mundane and unimportant. His head lowered, as his hair fell onto his face again, covering him. His hand started trembling, since he both couldn't quite believe that he had gone through with the scandalous, borderline desperate plan, and had lost the conviction of the said plan ever being a good idea in the first place. He half-pretended to be upset with himself, regretful about the outburst he just had.

\- I apologise, sir, - he began, his voice dimming down as he spoke. - It was unacceptable...

Reuben put his hand on Euan's bare shoulder, close to his neck, stopping him. It wasn't news to him that Euan was capable of powerful, unexpected magic. It was old news, drowned in the swamp of unpleasant, often humiliating for the latter interactions they have been having in their adult lives. Oddly enough, Reuben found himself glad Euan had snapped. Watching him compromise left and right, accepting a degradingly simple office job and avoiding the castle with all the possible conflicts for the last six years, Reuben had forgotten that he wanted his problematic cousin fighting along him in the coming war not just for the laughs, or because that was the right thing to do, but also because Euan Charles Lestrange was his blood, and was bloody good.

\- I will tell this to you one more time, Euan, - he said in all seriousness, stepping aside from the chair and lifting his hand. He crossed his arms at his chest and let his head tilt backward, as if evaluating his little brother from above. - You don't belong among the blood traitors or muggles or other scum. Your place is next to your family, beside the Dark Lord. If you pass on this opportunity for greatness, you will regret it to your dying day. Which - if you continue acting as you have been, will be coming soon.

\- Alright, - exhaled Euan, turning to a side. Perhaps not realising it himself, he was searching for Jingie for some sort of support.

\- Alright?! - repeated Reuben, startled. He had a passing, unstable hunch that this was all Euan was waiting for. If he were to listen to his intuition, he might have gone so far as to feel as if he had been used .

\- Yes, - said Euan, still looking to a side, as if ashamed of something. His voice regained the usual polite confidence. - I would be honored to be of service to the Dark Lord, sir. If it is not too late.

\- It is not, - reassured Reuben, exhaling with relief. Small ball of warmth creeped into his soul, lighting him up with a feeling of connectedness. For a moment he celebrated the change in his cousin, excited to see him along himself, fighting against the garbage threatening the fabric of their society, and perhaps even earning the honor to join the Death Eaters.

Euan threw a glance at him, as he pulled back a chair, sitting down at the table again. The younger Lestrange ran a hand across his face, coming to terms with what he was doing. The first shimmer of the ache of treachery cut through him, giving him a mere glimpse into the pain he was going to contract along the way.

\- I thought about this for a long time now, - he said. - It was hard to admit, but I promise you, sir, I realized that I have been very wrong to associate myself with the muggles. - Euan felt disgusted with himself, but continued in the same calm, measured voice. - I hope I can right my wrongs.

\- I hope so, too. - answered Reuben, grabbing the cup with tea from Jingie's hands as the latter approached, about to serve him. - There will be no second chance, - he warned.


	17. December, 1973

Lucius leaned at the wall of the Hogwarts Express, straightening his back against the red leather coating of the bench. His forehead touched the window, as the warm air he exhaled started forming a small spot on the cold glass. He put his left leg over the other, bending a little to manage to do so without hitting his knee to the tabletop. He raised a copper colored cup closer to his mouth, while his face twitched a little, as if expressing a profound dissatisfaction with the entire world.

The time of the year would suggest that the wind - throwing the falling snowflakes into a twisting dance on the other side of the window, was freezing cold. The kind of cold that creeped into one's bones and numbed their senses. Crisp, fresh whiteness was absorbing all the features and colors of the once green, animated scene, sparing just a few patches of bare tree branches with some shining, transparent icicles hanging from them. The charms accurately framing the train, however, were successful in preventing the exchange of matter waves, making it nice and warm for all the students on it, regardless of the weather outside.

Lucius was relaxed as he sipped in the rum from his metal cup, acting as if he owned the steam train, the railroads and every last item in the view. He observed his companions from above, across his own shoulder. There was an air of natural, matter of fact entitlement about him - one of the many qualities that attracted Severus Snape to his persona. Snape - sitting next to him, had a short, disappointed sigh before putting down the textbook he had been reading for the last couple of hours and closing it.

Snape slid back on his seat with caution, curling in his shoulders and lowering his head, as if unsure whether he was allowed to pursue a slight bit more of comfort for himself. Still somewhat wound up, he looked across the table, directing his attention at two other students in the compartment - Evan Rosier and Alfred Avery.

\- How do you like it? - smirked Rosier, nodding at the nonic pint full of butterbeer in front of Severus.

There was an evident, demonstrative disregard in his voice, and not the usual one he had for the majority of wizards he talked to, but a special one, reserved just for Snape. Snape, unlike the majority of wizards Rosier didn't consider worthy of his time or respect, was extremely intelligent and well versed at Dark Arts. He could recognize the legitimate competition Severus constituted, even through his warped lens of a supremacist that was quick to sort people into categories by their blood status. In fact, Snape's humble origin made him even more of a threat, pressuring Evan to dismiss the former as loud and clear as was possible.

Snape smiled, as if apologising for being in the room. It was not exactly easy - being one of them. It came with doubting and thoroughly questioning every sentence before saying it out loud, thinking about every action after he had committed it, noticing and remembering all the glances frowned in his direction. It was hard, exhausting, but ultimately rewarding.

Without saying a word, Severus put his palm around the pint, unaware what to expect. It was wet, glittering with reflected light. The golden liquid inside it was not uniform, with large bubbles floating up to form the wide, light-yellow foam at the surface. Snape strengthened his grip, and raised the glass to the level of his eyes. He paused, worried that it might slide off and break, spilling beer over his textbook. Looking at the refracted face of Evan Rosier through the liquid and inhaling the chemical smell of fermenting wheat, Snape was hesitant about drinking it.

\- Have you had butterbeer before? - asked Malfoy, smiling to hide a mixture of slight judgement and amusement.

Severus shook his head. He had wine once, last summer, but there was nothing positive about the experience that he could recall. He put the pint back on the table, hoping that the young wizards sitting in front of him won't take offense in that. Granted, Lucius' presence was a sort of a protection for Snape, and, perhaps more importantly, a validation that he, despite his age and obscure family name, was, indeed, their friend.

\- Go on, have some, - pushed Avery, leaning forward for a fraction of an inch.

Tired and sleep deprived, Snape didn't want to have a conversation with either Alfred or Evan. He opened his textbook on a random page, searching for the odd comfort of numbers and formula derivations plaguing the _Numerology and Grammatica_. The comfort that the second most scientific magical discipline provided him with wasn't so much a function of the reliable, governable behavior of structured concepts it studied, as it was a function of the associations and memories it evoked for Severus.

\- Thanks, Avery, - he replied, attempting to balance politeness with firmness. - I will, a little later.

Pulling the book closer to himself, Severus turned a few pages, looking for the chapter he was working on just a few days ago. He knew that in order to command respect he had to stand his own ground, sometimes even with regard to trivial things.

\- Snape, - called Avery, as if trying on the word to see if it fits his collocutor. Snape looked up from the book. - Getting those bottles in, - Alfred continued, pointing at a carton box floating at the corner of their compartment, left to the door, - cost us a certain amount of resources, - in stating so, he did not appear hostile or insulted, although the implication was that Severus wasn't appreciative enough of those wasted resources.

Snape could feel the disapproval both Alfred and Evan had for him in this moment, as well as in general. Just as most of the other young Dark Arts enthusiasts Severus ended up being around due to more than one circumstance, Avery often felt that he did not belong in their company. Thus, each time Snape was a little more hesitant, a little less grateful for his position in their circle of the elected they imagined him to be, they disapproved of his actions and of him as a whole as demonstratively as they saw fit.

Giving it a few seconds thought, Snape decided not to comment. Instead, he curved his lips a little - as if about to smile, and nodded, acknowledging either that there was a sacrifice involved in smuggling alcohol on board of the Hogwarts Express, or that he was in the wrong for not joining in its consumption.

\- Why don't you fetch us some firewhiskey? - suggested Evan, glancing for Lucius' reaction. He also knew that standing one's own ground was imperative in maintaining one's position in their shallow, intimidation-based subculture that had been shaping up in the Dungeons of Slytherin.

\- Sure, - agreed Severus easily. He produced his wand from the pocket of his school robes, and gently waved it towards the floating carton box, squinting to locate the tall, square bottle he thought would be the one containing whiskey. - Accio.

The bottle floated towards the table, and, as the cap came undone, the bottle tilted itself to fill the wide, hard-cut glasses in front of Rosier and Avery. Once finished, Snape directed his wand down, placing the whiskey at the center of the table, and dropped it into his pocket. He considered asking if he should get them some ice or straws as well, but decided that would be a notch less cordial than was appropriate.

\- Great, - approved Rosier with an unfounded sense of victory, and emptied his cup at once.

His beautiful, symmetrical face wrinkled as the strong, piercing taste of the beverage hit his throat. He was almost about to jump on his feet, but gathered himself at once and leaned back, inhaling the clean, soothing air as deep as his lungs allowed him to. He realised that was a meaningless statement of dominance the moment he did it. It was quite unsettling, really, having to confront the fact that his at best half-blooded, malnourished housemate made him so insecure.

\- Huh, - reacted Avery with a little surprise, and, raising his cup up and forward, toasted in an attempt to claim attention away from his friend, - Cheers!

\- Listen, Severus, - started Lucius, impartial to the juvenile contest of who could down alcohol faster. - I have been meaning to ask, - his voice was quite full of care, with a hint of genuine concern. - Have you made friends with that Lestrange girl?

\- No, - answered Snape without much thought. It was clear to him that was what Lucius expected to hear. For some reason, denouncing Lien was not difficult and did not feel wrong. This moment Lien was a distant concept of friendship he had to step on to please the friends he thought he had and needed.

\- Good, - said Lucius. - Don't get me wrong, she comes from a great family, - he continued, running a hand through his long, blond hair, - but she is a bit…

\- Weird? - offered Snape. He was discovering a deep, fundamental disregard for the very notions of friendship and loyalty in himself. He was startled, at first, but then it felt empowering.

Lucius turned himself such that he could face Severus. His hand stretched across the red leather coating of the bench and landed on Snape's shoulder in a well-intentioned, patronizing gesture.

\- That's one way to describe it, - agreed Malfoy. He exchanged quick, understanding smirks with Rosier and Avery, both of whom couldn't help but to chuckle. To them Gwendolien Jehanné Lestrange was an even more distant concept of a stupid little blood traitor, just about strong enough to entertain them with a desperate, hopeless struggle whenever their paths crossed at Hogwarts.

Snape sat still, even though he wanted to shake off Lucius' hand from himself, as he found the situation less and less pleasant. Drawing a sharp breath to calm himself down, he caught the header of the page his textbook was opened on, "Charms to plot Probability Distributions". The memories that phrase provoked made Severus second guess his attitude earlier.

\- Anyway, - said Lucius, rolling his cup of rum along the tabletop closer to himself, - I just wanted to say that you shouldn't waste time on her, Severus.

For the seconds it took Severus to comprehend what was said and respond to it, he thought of the night he and Lien finished their Potions paper, when she spent a few hours after explaining to him some of the mathematics behind the spells described in that chapter of the Arithmancy textbook. "There is a whole branch of mathematics", she told him, "dedicated to the study of probabilities… If wizards read some of our research, read how we can build predictive models, and determine exactly how reliable those models are… It's so recent, it's younger than Quantum Physics!". She went on for quite some time then, interrupting herself in excitement, throwing more obscure scientific terms, jumping from one topic to another, with that unexpected, infective passion she hid from all of her classmates.

\- Why would I? - said Snape with a faint smile.

\- I wouldn't know, - shrugged Lucius, and had a sip of his drink. He wasn't convinced, but he was pleased with himself for stepping up to prevent Severus from associating with the wrong people. - I am glad to hear that.

\- She is a cunt, anyway, - joined in Avery without a particular prompt.

\- That she is, - confirmed Rosier, pouring himself more of firewhiskey. - All of those Gryffindor bitches are.

Snape threw a quick glance at the two of them. The instant he did so, he caught himself at the thought that punching at least one of them would feel good. A wild, primitive thought of the satisfaction of non-magical violence that would not normally occur to him rang with an echo of the girl in discussion. Scared of his own reaction, he had a sip of butterbear.

* * *

In the wagon adjacent to the one in which Severus Snape was, Lien Lestrange pressed her chin against her knees, as she watched the lights of London approach in the large, dusty window of the Hogwarts Express. She squinted, stretching closer to the wall to see how the King's Cross station was getting bigger and obtaining a better definition in the distance, and hoping to spot her father's figure as soon as possible.

\- Please, Lestrange, - she heard from across the table, and turned towards the wizards she was sharing the table with. - Have some!

Frank Longbottom - a handsome, wide-shouldered teenager still wearing the Hogwarts uniform, slid a bag of Chocolate Frogs and Jelly Slugs across the tabletop in Lien's direction. His arm was curled around his girlfriend Alice Prewett's waist, who was sitting next to him. Small, round-faced witch in a bright dress covered in big, smooth scales and animated roses. Her large scarlet squire top hat was also decorated with a couple of animated flowers, gleaming with bursts of random colors, with attached feathers that were brushing against her neighbor's face. The two of them were headed to a Christmas dinner that same night, Lien learned during their shared time on the train without a hint of expressed interest, and Alice couldn't wait to dress up for the occasion.

Lestrange put her legs down, craning her neck to examine the contents of the bag of sweets offered to her. Her beautiful straight nose wrinkled a little, as she grimaced in a mild disappointment. The number of goods sold at Honeydukes Express she would consider edible was rather limited.

\- Thanks, Longbottom, - she said, her intonation firm and uncompromising, - I'll pass.

Lien didn't remember learning how to tell people she didn't want their food without sounding apologetic or reluctant. It has always been a matter of basic ethics and logic to her - she thought, with quiet the confidence, that a human was not entitled to cause harm to another sentient creature for a non-essential outcome. What she remembered learning and being confused about was that most humans - even those that claimed to be caring, compassionate and overall virtuous, were casual and accepting of products that were a result of other creatures' mistreatment, such as chocolate made with cow's milk or jelly made with gelatin.

\- You not hungry? - asked Dirk Creswell, wiping his mouth from cream. The tip of his nose was still stained with a dash of blue frost.

He was sitting next to Lien, closer to the window. Since the trip started from Hogsmeade, he had contributed a set of Cauldron Cakes and a loud ramble about the religious muggle origins of Christmas to their table. He was a little nervous, it appeared. Dirk had just finished his third semester at Hogwarts and was still unsure what was his exact position in the intersections of the wizarding world and that of the muggles that he came from. Lien, although she related to his struggle, didn't feel inclined to say anything of comfort or importance.

\- No, - she answered easily.

Lestrange, not waiting for the train to come to a full stop, got on her feet. She stood straight, with her knees bent, pinning herself to the floor and maintaining a stable stance against the rapidly decelerating environment. She grabbed her huge, old backpack from the shelf near the ceiling. Her arm tensed to manage the weight and, as she threw it over her shoulder, she made a step towards the exit.

\- Bye, - said Lien in a low, absent-minded voice, in part because she didn't want to appear impolite or bitter, in part because she thought that her accidental companions for the day were genuine and sincere wizards.

\- See you next term, Lestrange! - called Frank with a wide, open smile.

\- Have a great break! - added Alice.

Lien, concentrating on getting through the doors of the wagon, didn't pay them attention. The intense December wind hit her in the face the moment she stepped out. She leaned at the frame, squeezing her luggage, careless about damaging it. Breathing in the cold air, she pulled up her white cotton scarf high enough to cover her nose. Her stomach felt tight, as she was both excited and a little worried about meeting her father soon, since her final grades weren't that great, as well as there might have been one or two reports sent to him regarding her discipline the past semester.

Her head hit something as the Hogwarts Express came to an abrupt full halt at the platform 9 and ¾.

There was a mixed smell of petrol, heated metal and warm pastries in the station. The atmosphere was that of celebration, with excited families gathered in small groups, eager to reunite with their children as soon as possible.

Straightening up, Lestrange stopped for a few seconds to observe her schoolmates start to hustle around inside the train, putting on coats and hats, grabbing their suitcases and forming a flow towards the exits. She found it nice that now, when no dress code was enforced, their personalities and backgrounds surfaced from the homogeneity of standard black robes.

In a minute Snape, who had successfully made it to the platform, watched Lien jump over the three stairs hanging from the train onto the rails. She landed a couple of inches deep into the snow and mud, which, she quickly figured, was a bad idea. She plowed her way with confidence, determination and peaceful acceptance of the unfortunate situation she had put herself in. In a second, unable to help smiling as he saw her climb up the platform, Severus heard himself calling her name.

Lestrange turned towards him. She was glad to see him.

\- Hi.

The fragile connection established between two insecure, socially inept teenagers, fueled by their respective incompetence in Potions and Arithmancy, was a rather improbable one. That, perhaps, was a major reason for the connection being established in the first place. Despite all the doubts and fears that wrapped them up as they shared the most protected components of their stories in a slow, measured pace, out of profound loneliness and with reluctance, their interactions were light. It did not feel as if there was an obligation of any sort associated with their friendship. Theirs was a mutually caring, yet not an interdependent or an exhausting relationship, with their core qualities compatible and complementary.

Severus was quite fond of her attitude towards her circumstances - accepting as a matter of fact, just as she was of getting into mud moments ago; and often hateful, as she was with most of his friends and her own relatives. However, in contrast to Lily Evans, she never imposed her opinions about them on him. Lien was someone Snape could spend time with, discuss classes and not feel rejected, judged or as if he was failing, as it was increasingly more often the case with Lily.

Lien had stopped at a hand's distance from him. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, with half of it escaping the tie and framing her face in light-brown strands. She had on a temperature-insulating, muggle-produced clover green winter coat and tight fit blue jeans. With the old, stained backpack and brown hiking boots, she, unlike all the other pureblood wizards Severus had any meaningful interactions with, was simple and approachable.

\- I just wanted to... - he started, his conscience weighed down with the conversation he just had. - I wanted to wish you Merry Christmas before we go on holiday.

\- Sure, - Lien nodded, pulling her scarf down a little. - Merry Christmas, Snape.

Severus had an impulse to look around, to see whether any of his friends had noticed that he was spending time with that Lestrange girl against their advice. He decided against it, as that would have been rude and cowardly.

\- Merry Christmas, Lestrange, - he echoed, and hurried to finish the conversation. - I look forward to spending more time with you next year. Be well.

\- Wait, - called Lien before he would walk away. She had been meaning to tell him something for quite a while now. It wasn't urgent or particularly significant, but, if she were to hold on much longer, it would probably become irrelevant and less appropriate to bring up.

Severus put his square shaped, medium sized, World War II era suitcase on the ground. He was in his Hogwarts robes - same cheap, second-hand apparel he had been wearing for the last two years. It was getting small and uncomfortable around his shoulders, and the Serpent badge was higher on his chest than was intended to. Snow was falling on his slimy hair, covering it in white spots.

\- Remember you said that your father doesn't like wizards?

Snape raised an eyebrow, taken aback. One quality of Lien he wasn't sure he liked as much was that of randomness; of throwing questions on him without a warning.

\- Yes, - he confirmed.

\- I thought... - started Lien, unsure whether it was a good idea to proceed. She did not want to assume too much familiarity. - Would it help if he met more wizards?

Lien Lestrange was a curious human being, eager to learn about the worlds in which other people lived. The idea of a muggle who hated wizards was new and intriguing to her, and she wanted to understand the reasons for one holding such views.

Snape was confused at first. He tilted his head to a side, giving her an assessing look.

\- It could go either way, - he concluded after a moment's thought. Exhaling, himself uncertain if the next thing he was about to do was a good idea, Severus continued. - Would you like to visit me sometime before the school starts again?

Once he said it out loud, it appeared to be an alright idea. It, indeed, could go either way with his muggle father, but there was a good chance his witch mother would be delighted he had made a friend willing to come to see him at the Spinner's End.

\- Sure, - answered Lien, brightening up. Excited, she went on to promise. - I'll bring your family gifts, too!

Snape gave out a short, shy laugh. The thought of his family doing something to celebrate Christmas was an unusual and an entertaining one. For an instant he hoped that this arrangement he just made would be a reason for his parents to be nice to each other, put a Christmas tree or roast a small bird for the occasion, although he knew that was unlikely.

\- Well, then, - he said, - I'll send you an owl as soon as I get home.

In the midst of increasingly more vibrant chaos of the train station, there was a hesitation hung between them as their communication seemed complete. It was encased in an anxiety that had been building up in each of them separately for a few weeks already. Lien didn't want to go home, Snape realised, and that was a feeling he could relate to well. He stretched his hand in her direction with no explicit purpose. His finger touched Lien's shoulder, brushing against the waterproof fabric of her clover green coat.

She followed him move with attention, not approving of him intruding into her space. Snape's hand dropped, offering a handshake. Lien scoffed at such a formality, took a deep breath, composing her courage, and, catching his hand by the wrist, pulled him at herself. Severus, his balance shattered in her direction, carefully and gently, with a complete lack of confidence, embraced her in a hug in response. He felt an odd, sour combination of embarrassment and relief as he did so.


End file.
